


Storybrooke PTA

by MissRedpen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Angst, Bullies, Calling the kettle black, Closed minds, Detention, Dom!Belle, Emotional Growth, Enabling, F/F, F/M, Families of Choice, Gen, Infertility, Interracial Relationship, Lesbian Characters, Lesbian Relationship, Love, Marriage, Maturing, Money, Multi, Not taking shit, Prejudice, Regina/Emma sexy times, Relationship Problems, Small town politics, Somebody's getting hitched, Wedding Planning, Zelena unhinged, hypocracy, making new friends, parenting, sub!Gold
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2018-09-17 08:37:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 82,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9313838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissRedpen/pseuds/MissRedpen
Summary: Regina and Emma are raising Henry.  Storybrooke PTA has a fit.  The ladies fight back and gain unlikely allies.Please feel free to leave comments,  critiques and suggestions.





	1. The Letter

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by "Harper Valley, PTA" song by Tom T. Hall.  
> This is a multi chapter work. Will be updated as often as life lets me. Buckle up.  
> Imagine a sentimental picture of Regina, Emma and Henry at the beginning.  
> I chose M rating for the fairly graphic smutty smut, a little bit of non-con kink, a touch of homophobia, a smidgen of racism, a tumbler of language. Shake well, serve over ice. Sorry for choosing the wrong rating before.

Storybrooke PTA

*Inspired by the song “Harper Valley, PTA” by Tom T. Hall. 

 

Henry Mills put the letter between his math notebook and a worn copy of 'Huckleberry Finn'. It had been sealed with a special wax and the principal had told him that “Only your guardians can open it.” But Henry, having a curious nature, saw that as an invitation and ripped the envelope open as soon as he stepped off the bus. After Henry read the letter he wished it was still morning and he didn't have to come home with something ugly. Because after his Moms read it, they were gonna lose their shit.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

 

Henry entered the white house by the kitchen door, noticing Emmas' yellow Beetle in the driveway. He opened the door and was greeted by the aroma of freshly baked apple popovers. His Moms sat at the kitchen island, holding hands; their attention divided between each other and a newspaper clipping on the table. 

“You're late young man.” Regina fussed and gave her son a hug. “I made these especially; thought you might need a pick-me-up after your math test today. Would you like yours with vanilla or strawberry?” She took an ice cream scoop from a drawer and reached for the freezer door. “What's wrong?”

“Here.” he said, dropping the letter on the kitchen island and prying a popover from the tray. “I'm gonna eat in my room.”

Regina looked at the letterhead. “What's this? Why is it open? Henry, is there something you need to discuss?”

Emma rose from her place and retrieved a plate from the cabinet.

“Here.” she said, handing Henry an out. “Bring it back when you're done, please.”

Regina curled her nose at the defiance. “You know there's no eating in bedrooms unless someone is sick.”

“He needs time to decompress and get away from us.”

“Because he's turning into a teenager? I thought we'd have more time before the sulking and black moods started.”

“No, Queenie,” Emma waved the letter. “This. Come on.”

 

To the guardians of Henry Mills, 

A certain situation, which until now has been met with a blind eye by the good citizens of Storybrooke, cannot be civilly ignored any longer. Ms. Mills, we find your co-habitation and “relationship” with a member of the same sex to be insulting to our values. It has been reported that Ms. Emma Swan was hired at the Sheriffs' Station because of her illicit relations with you. Madam Mayor, you are abusing your office to further your own indecent agenda. It will not stand. If you had a shred of common decency you will stop corrupting the morals of your poor, fatherless child; giving him a good home and good mother to come home to.

It was signed by the members of the Storybrooke PTA.

As if hit in the chest by a heavy fist, Regina stopped breathing and slumped into a kitchen chair. Emmas' fair features, usually a shade of porcelain, was covered in red, angry blotches. The two ladies stared at each other in disbelief, as if silently asking if they were dreaming the letter. Emma read the letter aloud; it sounded unreal in her own voice. She put the letter on the table and took Reginas hand in her own. 

“What...do we...been a while since I've seen...” Emma tried. Regina took a deep breath and the tears came tumbling down. Emma wrapped her arms around Regina, holding her close like a sought-after treasure. “Oh, baby.” 

“Come on.” Emma wrapped her arm around Reginas' waist and led her up the winding staircase and into the black and white master bedroom. Emma shrugged off her leather jacket and went into the adjoining en suite. She emerged a few minutes later with a warm, wet washcloth; Emma sat next to Regina on the king-sized bed and began wiping mascara streaks off Reginas' face.

“You look like a raccoon.” 

“Thank you. Just what I need to hear right now.”

“I know exactly what you need to hear.” Emma turned and yelled across the hall. “Henry, can you come here please?”

“Oh, not now. I must look a fright.” Regina swung her legs off the bed and headed to the bathroom. Emma heard water running from the tap and could imagine Regina applying anti-puffiness cream to her face. 

The young teens' door swung open and he slunk into the ladies' bedroom, his posture practically a question mark. Emma held out her hand, inviting Henry to sit on the bed with her. Regina emerged from the bathroom, removed her heels and joined the two. 

“Now,” Emma began in her Bounty Hunter voice, “Start at the beginning. Who gave you the note, Henry?”

He didn't look up; at first he played with the scroll design on the white duvet. Henry pulled the material up and down, making mountains between himself and his Moms. Regina flattened the landscape and pulled Henry into her embrace. 

“I love you, no matter what. As painful as this is, we have to know everything.” 

“Principal Forrest. She gave me the letter after my last class. Said only you two were supposed to open it.”

“So naturally you took that as an invitation?” Emma asked and Henry shrugged affirmatively. “Then what happened?”

“I read it. Gave it to you two. At first I wanted to throw it away.”

“Why?” Regina asked. “Ignoring a problem only makes it worse.”

“Because it's ugly and I knew it would upset you. And I was right!” His voice broke with a hoarse croak. He swiped tears from his cheeks with the back of his shirt sleeves. “What's gonna happen now?”

“Good question.” Emma replied, looking at Regina.

“Can you get the letter, please? And my laptop?” Regina asked Emma, who left the bedroom and returned a few minutes later with both items in hand. “Now,” Regina straightened up against the headboard, love snug against both sides of her and a laptop leaned against her knees. On the screen was an image of the Storybrooke School, a listing of offices, teachers and assorted groups in columns on either side of the page. Regina scrolled down until she found Parent Teachers Association listed at the bottom. “Aha! There you are!” 

“What are you up to?” Emma asked.

“Making a battle plan. Which starts with information. I want to know who we're up against.”

The names of PTA members were listed in alphabetical order.

“There is is, big as life and twice as ugly.” Emma commented, looking at the list. “Do they look familiar? Have you had dealings with them in the past?”

Emma watched Regina's brown eyes grow wider until they threatened to bug out completely. “I take that as a yes.”

Regina nodded. “I've had dealings with every one of these people, either before or during my time as Mayor.”

“I wouldn't know them from Adam.” 

“Emma,” Henry pointed out, “That's because you moved in at the start of summer break. You haven't lived in Storybrooke that long.”

Regina had clicked on a link marked 'Events' and was smiling like a cat with a mouthful of mouse.

“I'll tell you on the way.” She closed the computer, swung her legs off the bed and strode to the closet. She slid open the mirrored door, knelt down on the floor and pitched an assortment of shoes over her shoulder. “Where are you hiding?”  
“What are you looking for?” Emma wondered aloud, dodging a pair of high-heeled flip-flops. “And where are we going?”

“Aha! There you are!” Regina crawled out of the back of the closet holding a pair of a pair of boots that looked like sex with a heel. Red soles, spike heels that could cause a nosebleed and a tall braided leather shaft that threatened to break public decency laws. 

It was a good thing Henry was seated in front of Emma, the blonde loosened her collar at the sight of her partner putting on the footwear.

“That answers one question. How about the other?” The three made a parade down the winding staircase and to the kitchen, stopping so suddenly at the table they threatened to topple over like bowling pins while Regina dropped the odious letter into her handbag. 

“I'm blocking you in, we'll have to take the Beetle.” Emma said, pulling the keys from her red leather jacket and the little family piled inside. “Just tell me where.”

“Storybrooke Middle School.”

“Queenie, what are you going to do?”

Regina shifted in her seat and faced the two people she loved the most. “Teach them to not point at me with shitty fingers.”

The ride to the school was quiet.


	2. Glass Houses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pot, meet kettle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for taking so long to post. Between work, real life and being sick, you know how it goes. 
> 
> I'd like to thank my two favorite people for encouraging, editing and putting up with me in general. I couldn't do this without you.
> 
> Please feel free to critique, leave comments or ask questions.

Storybrooke PTA, Chapter Two

Glass Houses

 

Before the meeting started, the annual 'Meet and Greet' took place. It gave people who hadn't seen each other since talking to them at the green grocer, the Post Office or the doctors' office a chance to catch up. Such was life in Storybrooke; every week was Old Home Week. The leaders of the PTA walked onto the elevated stage, taking their places at an oblong table with padded folding chairs. A leggy redhead practically ran over the other members to be first in front of the audience. As they were taking their seats, those in attendance threw away Styrofoam cups of coffee, put their phones on silent and got comfortable at two rows of long, plastic lunch tables. 

The red headed woman smiled and rang a small silver bell to call the meeting to order. 

“Good evening everyone to the first Parent/Teacher meeting of the year. We have a lot to cover, so let's ...” She stopped when the double doors at the back of the cafeteria opened and in strode Regina Mills and family down the center aisle. They didn't bother finding seats. “Madame Mayor” she choked, “always a pleasure.” The woman looked like she'd been hit with a fish.

Phones were pulled quietly from pockets and purses as Regina ascended the stairs to the stage.

“Save it.” Regina hissed. “I'm going to address this meeting of the Storybrooke PTA.” Standing tall in her Fuck You boots she turned to the attendees. “Ladies and gentlemen, the members of the PTA sent a letter home with my son today. In it I am accused of nepotism and corrupting the morals of my son because of whom I love.” There were murmurs from the crowd and much shifting in seats, as if they had woken up to an unbelievable sight. “I should defend orientation and the rights of citizens. But I'd rather throw rocks at glass houses.” She stood behind a distinguished gray-haired man in a two-piece suit. 

“Albert Spencer, when you ran for District Attorney your campaign slogan was 'Integrity You Can Trust.' Tell me, why did your secretary Ashley Boyd leave, what was it, about nine months ago?”

The man pulled at his suddenly too-tight collar. “I couldn't, uh, I think it was, um, family problems.”

“I'm sure it was.” Reginas red lips pulled back in to a frightful grin as she patted Spencers padded shoulder and moved along. “And here,” she gestured to a man dressed in a suit that was new when flip phones were popular. “Sits Malcolm Peters, Storybrooke Hospitals' administrator. Are you ever going to fix the elevators or are you waiting for someone else to fall down a shaft?” Regina looked left and right, “Where is your wife, Gerri, at Agrabagh Casino playing roulette? The way she spends, people would think she's rolling in money. Not yours, but somebodys.” 

“Don't think I've forgotten you, Marmaduke Weselton.” Regina marched to the bespectacled man who was trying to shrink into his seat. “You pompous pimple; anyone coming to you for a home loan hears a resounding 'No', unless you benefit personally.”

The slender man stood, his nose in the air, “You make it sound like I'm skimming money!”

“Not that I'm aware of, but you do enjoy watching borrowers squirm. Does that include your wife too?”

Murmurs grew from the crowd.

“And you, Blue Fey,” Regina moved two steps to address a prim brunette wearing a sweater set and pleated skirt, her hair in chignon so tight no hair dare escape, “Did your web cam business pay for that new Mercedes AMG,”

Low whistles issued from the audience. Husbands were elbowed by their significant others.

“Or was it the inheritance you stole from your sister, Astrid? Last, but certainly not least, our school principal, Doctor Zelena Forrest. She believes in loving too well and not at all wisely.”

The red headed woman leaped to her feet, “That's a lie Ms. Mills!”

Regina shrugged, “You don't have to take my word, read the records with her,” she pointed a crimson colored nail at Zelena, “being charged with multiple counts of disorderly conduct and disturbing the peace. And speaking of which, I've said mine.” Regina held hands with her two favorite people and walked out. 

 

[][][][][][][][][]]][[][][][][][][][]][][][


	3. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fallout from "The Incident."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My editors are divided whether I should provide the lyrics or a link to the lyrics. I'm old fashioned, so I'm providing the lyrics. Don't know if there will be a song with each chapter, but I'll try.
> 
> I welcome critiques and constructive criticism.

The Morning After

 

If we can hold on through the night  
We have a chance to find the sunshine  
Let's keep on lookin' for the light

Oh, can't you see the morning after  
It's waiting right outside the storm  
Why don't we cross the bridge together  
And find a place that's safe and warm

 

It's not too late, we should be giving  
Only with love can we climb  
It's not too late, not while we're living  
Let's put our hands out in time

 

There's got to be a morning after  
We're moving closer to the shore  
I know we'll be there by tomorrow  
And we'll escape the darkness  
We won't be searchin' any more

(song written by Joel Hirschhorn and Al Kasha)

 

Regina was awakened by a buzzing sound coming from the nightstand. She didn't want to open her eyes and doubted she could. Regina and Emma fell into bed after sharing a bottle of red wine. “For health benefits.” Emma had claimed as she tipped the last drop into Reginas' glass. 

She buried her head under the blankets and the noise persisted. It sounded like a swarm of bees outside the window. Regina burrowed further under the covers next to Emma, who had throw pillows around her face. 

“What is that?” Emma mumbled.

“My phone, I think.”

“Who would call at this ungodly hour? What time is it anyway?”

“I don't know, I can't see. My lids are glued down.”

Emma groaned, “Might as well answer it. They're not going to stop until you do.”  
Regina agreed and reached for the phone, her eyes still unopened. Her fingers hit something smooth and plastic and that item fell on the floor with a thud. “Damn.”

“S'matter?” 

“I knocked it off the bedside table. Hold on.” 

Regina forced her eyes open and was assaulted by mid-morning sun streaming through the curtains. She shielded her eyes and stared at the floor wondering why she saw two phones, then realized she wasn't seeing double, but two individual phones lying side by side. 

“I knocked yours off too.”

“It was prob'lly down there...I'm goin' back to sleep.”

“Hello?” she asked as the caller hung up. “Never mind.” Regina said to the screen, put the phone back on the nightstand and buried herself under a pillow. “Me too.”

The ladies were about to let the Sand Man beat them to death when a cheerful chirp came from the phone.

“Can I shoot that?” Emma wondered aloud.

“Voicemail. Might be work. But first, I need coffee.” 

Once the taste of morning breath was rinsed away she felt a little more human. Why had she drank so much? She thought as she assembled the coffee pot. She searched her fuzzy brain for an answer. Then it hit her: the PTA letter! The confrontation in her Louboutins, then using said footwear later in a more pleasant activity than telling off those...

“Sanctimonious church ladies.” Regina declared as she carefully placed two Aleve into her mouth and sipped water from a mug while the coffee was brewing. “Finally at a place...” she growled as she poured half and half into her coffee cup and topped it with black coffee. “Not going back. Forward only.” Regina took a seat at the table just off the kitchen and got lost looking at nothing in particular until a voice woke her up.

“Hey there beautiful.”

Emma wore a knee-length sleep shirt emblazoned with an unhappy cartoon rodent and the caption “Don't Mess With Minnie.” The blonde pushed a tangled lock of hair away from her eyes and gazed longingly at what Regina was holding. “Any more of that?” she asked, pointing at the coffee cup. Regina was rising from her seat when Emma waved at her, “I'll get it.” She filled a mug that could double as a soup bowl with straight black coffee and sat next to Regina. “Here.” Emma handed Regina her phone. 

“Thanks.” Regina said and accessed voice mail. 

“Can I have a kiss?” Emma whispered, “I brushed my teeth.” The ladies leaned in and brushed their lips against one another; a simple act with many meanings: Good morning, I love you, Why do you put up with me? Regina interpreted Emmas' nibble as wanting a repeat of the previous night. Emma was disappointed when Regina suddenly pulled away. Reginas' eyes flew open as if suddenly sober and accessed her contact list. “What?” Emma asked and was shushed with a single finger.

“Mother?” she spoke into the speaker, “What do you mean it's on Facebook?!” 

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

 

“Hurry up, they'll be here soon!” Regina ordered, shoving piles of Saturday sale ads into Henrys' waiting arms, “Take them to my room and put them on the bed.” She paused and put her nose to the crown of her sons' head. “And run through the shower when you're done.”

“Can I use cologne?” Henry asked, hopeful.

“No, you may not, even if you had any. You're only eleven.”

“Grandpa does.”

“With all the fishing Daddy does, he has to otherwise he'd smell like salmon. Now go!” Regina pointed toward the door. “Emma I need you to,” the words were lost as she saw Emma leisurely sipping her coffee “What are you doing?” Reginas' hand gestures asked 'Why aren't you doing anything?'

“You do this every time.” Emma noted.

“Do what? Help me put dishes away.”

“Stand on inspection when your parents come over. I'm surprised you don't ask me to spit shine your shoes.” Emma shot Reginas' hopes down with a look. “Don't even think it. Why?”

“Why what?” Regina replied, looking at the kitchen clock. “Fifteen minutes. What?”

“They're not going to pass judgment, they love you.”

Regina stopped trying to find mate lids to freezer containers and looked up. “Old habits I suppose.” Emma went to Regina, wrapped her arms around Reginas' waist in an undemanding embrace and felt her relax for the first time that morning.

“I'm going to kiss you on the ear,” Emma warned, “don't bite my head off.” She placed her warm lips on Reginas' right lobe, lingering for a moment, “This,” she declared and rolled the tender skin between her thumb and forefinger, “has got to be my favorite part to nibble. Along with this.” Emma slipped her hand down to Reginas' breast and tweaked a nipple.

“No fair getting me worked up,” Regina said, her breath shallow. “we don't have time.”

“You're right.” Emma teased and removed her hand. 

Regina looked down at her silk blouse and frowned. “Now I'm wrinkled.” she said on her way up the stairs to their bedroom, presumably to change tops.

“You're killing the mood Queenie. Killing the mood.”

 

]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]

 

“Here,” Henry Mills Senior urged as his grandson opened the door. “Take one of these, I'm about to drop it.” He handed the boy a large, flat box. 

“What is it?”

“We stopped at Fantasia Bakery on the way over.”

“Home of the Magic Muffins? Gladly!” the boy exclaimed, pried open the box and dove a hand in, not caring what he picked up first. 

“Don't eat in the foyer, Henry.” a female voice came from the front step.

“Hi Grandma!” 

“That goes for you too.” the dignified woman advised as she slipped past her husband. “Let's go into the kitchen and put these bags down.”

Breakfast was a variety of doughnuts, muffins and popovers. Henry Senior and his namesake were trying to match each other sweet for sweet.

“That's enough for you.” Cora said after her husband finished his third Chocolate Long, “You'll have a bout of indigestion.” While she deposited their plates into the dishwasher their grandson snatched a Cruller from the box and slipped it to him under the table with a wink. Neither of the Moms who witnessed said a word. After everyone was full, it was time to broach the subject.

Cora pulled a tablet from her shoulder bag, but paused before signing into her Facebook account. “Regina, are you sure this subject should be discussed in” she glanced at her grandson, “mixed company?”

Regina put her arm protectively over her sons' shoulders. “Mother, this doesn't just concern Emma and I. Yes, Henry has a right to know.” Emmas smile was small but proud. Cora accessed her tablet with a thumbprint.

“This wouldn't have happened if you still worked at the firm.” Cora stated.

Regina sighed at the old argument. Emma squeezed Reginas' hand under the table. 

“Yes Mother, it would have.”

“I'm not suggesting that you wouldn't have defended your...family. I'm saying that if you were still at the law firm working with your father and I that you wouldn't be a public figure.”

“Can't always play it safe, Mother.” She gestured to Coras' tablet, “Show me.”

“I'm surprised you haven't seen it before now.” Everyone leaned in for a view of Regina on the screen pointing fingers and bringing down the mighty.

“Mother, I follow the school and city hall. And Alexander Wang.”

“And Zappos, and Bergdorf Goodman and Stylebop.” Emma added, ticking the stores off with her fingers. I forget, what's the one that's nothing but handbags?”

“Don't forget 'Beautiful Horses' and 'Cute Kitties.'” Henry the younger chimed.

“Several of those sound familiar Cora.” the elder Henry observed. His wife responded with a raised eyebrow. 

“Did someone send it to you especially?” Emma wondered aloud. “Like 'hey, look at what your kid is doing'?” 

“No. It just showed up this morning. There were comments,” Cora scrolled down the screen.

“Wow!” Henry exclaimed, “'LOL', 'Mic Drop,' 'Peyton Place,' 'Atta Boy Girl,' 'YFKM,' 'Those Boots,' and that one has four exclamation points.”

“Lots of negative ones, I'm sure.” said Regina.

Cora put her tablet face down on the table. “Those people,” she said, her nose wrinkling as if she had inhaled something unpleasant, “I have unfriended.” Banished with the click of a button. “I thought if someone took video of another party, they had to ask for permission before posting.”

“There aren't any rules about that, Grandma. People do what they want.”

Cora turned to her grandson, “When did people get rid of common courtesy?”

“I suppose, my love,” Henry the elder stated, “that life has become more complicated in the twenty-first century.”

Cora huffed her disapproval. “Not to me it hasn't.” Cora said, running a hand through her grandsons' hair. “The fools who wrote that letter should have thought about can and should. People in glass houses, you know.”

 

\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\\\]\\]\\]\\\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\]\\\\]]\\]\\]\

 

About the same time a grandmother with old-fashioned notions was checking her Facebook feed, phones and computers were dinging, pinging and buzzing all over Storybrooke. 

At Grannys' Diner, a white-haired restauranteur--who was running a Buy One, Get One Half Off special on full pans of lasagna—paused long enough from putting coffee into the Bunn brewer to glance at her phones' screen. She let out a surprised snort through her nose causing grounds to fly across the counter top. While cleaning up the mess with a towel, she stole a glance at the wide-shouldered gentleman in the center booth who was sipping coffee as dark as his own skin. 

Across town in an efficiency apartment so small you had to go outside to change your mind, a woman with a pixie cut took a break from reading real estate ads to cheer herself up by checking updates on social media. She stared, her mouth an 'O' of surprise and handed the phone to her boyfriend, who wondered if this video would pop up in his mind uninvited during their meeting with Westleton in a few weeks. 

In a blue Cape Cod within walking distance of Main Street, a man sat at the kitchen table, nursing a black coffee and scowling at the laptop screen. He had watched the video three times, anger and frustration growing within him. If only, he thought to himself, things were different, life would be better for he and Astrid. 

Within a salmon-colored Queen Anne home, a man with distinguished floof looked in awe at the auburn haired beauty waking from her post-coital nap. She stretched like a cat, then padded naked into the en suite to freshen up. While she was gone, he entertained himself by bidding on a Wallingford brass and crystal chandelier online when his shopping was interrupted by an updated feed. He paused, intending to give it a passing glance; when the woman emerged from the bathroom she found him grinning at the laptop screen like a hobgoblin. 

After packing a quart to-go container of Chocolate Death (dark chocolate ice cream with milk chocolate chips, fudge brownie chunks and covered in chocolate sprinkles) for a customer, the owner of Any Given Sundae went to her office to call Aurora, hoping the teenager could work today. After leaving a voice mail, she checked her phone for messages and her attention was diverted by an image on social media of the mayor giving as good as she got. Ingrids' attention shifted to the body language of her ferret-like brother-in-law. She wondered, if she called her sister, would Gerta be able to answer the phone?


	4. Take a Chance On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swan/Mills family dealing with fallout.  
> Someone's taking chances. Somebody else wants a bigger place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for lesbian sex and role play.

Storybrooke PTA, Chapter Four

 

Take a Chance On Me  
by Mark Steven Anderson, Debra Anderson, Carlos Toro Montoro

If you change your mind, I'm the first in line  
Honey I'm still free  
Take a chance on me  
If you need me, let me know, gonna be around  
If you've got no place to go, if you're feeling down  
If you're all alone when the pretty birds have flown  
Honey I'm still free  
Take a chance on me  
Gonna do my very best and it ain't no lie  
If you put me to the test, if you let me try

Take a chance on me  
(That's all I ask of you honey)  
Take a chance on me

We can go dancing, we can go walking, as long as we're together  
Listen to some music, maybe just talking, get to know you better  
'Cause you know I've got  
So much that I wanna do, when I dream I'm alone with you  
It's magic  
You want me to leave it there, afraid of a love affair  
But I think you know  
That I can't let go

If you change your mind, I'm the first in line  
Honey I'm still free  
Take a chance on me  
If you need me, let me know, gonna be around  
If you've got no place to go, if you're feeling down  
If you're all alone when the pretty birds have flown  
Honey I'm still free  
Take a chance on me  
Gonna do my very best and it ain't no lie  
If you put me to the test, if you let me try

Take a chance on me  
(Come on, give me a break will you?)  
Take a chance on me

Oh you can take your time baby, I'm in no hurry, know I'm gonna get you  
You don't wanna hurt me, baby don't worry, I ain't gonna let you  
Let me tell you now  
My love is strong enough to last when things are rough  
It's magic  
You say that I waste my time but I can't get you off my mind  
No I can't let go  
'Cause I love you so

If you change your mind, I'm the first in line  
Honey I'm still free  
Take a chance on me  
If you need me, let me know, gonna be around  
If you've got no place to go, if you're feeling down  
If you're all alone when the pretty birds have flown  
Honey I'm still free  
Take a chance on me  
Gonna do my very best, baby can't you see  
Gotta put me to the test, take a chance on me

Life returned to normal after what came to be known as “The Incident.” Regina presided over council meetings and approved budgets while Emma wrote speeding tickets and broke up fights at The Rabbit Hole. The brides required a “Wedding To Do” list app on their tablet; to reach the end of the page required several minutes of scrolling. Henry was introduced to a special form of sixth-grade hell: ALGEBRA. The leaves changed to brilliant shades of red, orange or yellow in early October, the dull green leaves holding on, like a kid wishing summer wouldn't end. 

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

“We need to settle this,” Regina stated, “indoor or outdoor?”

Emma was practical about the matter, “Indoor.”

“Why?”

“In case it rains.”

Regina nodded agreement, “True, but Storybrooke only has the VFW. The venue we need is twenty miles away. I don't think the guests would want to travel that far, especially if they're from out of town.”

“Okay, where's a good place around here for an outside wedding?”

“City park by the lake.” Henry chimed in as he poured himself another bowl of Choc-o-Crunch.

Regina made a note in the ever-present list. “I'll have to call the parks department Monday to see what the rental cost is.” 

It was Saturday, a day of leisure; unless you're planning a wedding.

“Why the rush?” Henry asked around a mouthful of artificial ingredients. “What's so important about getting it now? You're not getting married until June!”

“Swallow before you speak, Henry. We have to prepare now because it might not be available later.”

“Let's look at the layout today.” Emma said.

“Haven't you seen it before?” Regina asked. “On your rounds?”

“Yeah, but at night. And I'm usually scaring off necking teenagers.”

“Gross!” Henry exclaimed.

Emma saw an opening for a second tease. “And adults like to make out there, too.” 

“Way to leave emotional scars, Emma.” 

Regina silently scanned the calendar on her phone. Emma didn't have to, it was her day off.

“Free all day.” Regina declared. “Shall we go after lunch?” She paused to look at Henry, “And homework?”

Henry gave a gasp of disgust at the idea facing the enemy. “Can't I do it Sunday? I promise I'll get it done and clean my room if I can have today off. I swear!”

Emma could see Regina wavering under the doe eyes of her son. 

“The boss said no.” Emma put her foot down to help Regina.

“No she didn't, Mom, you didn't say anything!”

“Algebra again?” Regina asked, vaguely remembering sixth-grade.

Henry nodded. “Letters belong in sentences, not in a math problem.”

“Go get your homework, I want to see it.” Regina ordered. Henry went to his room and was back within minutes, unsure what his mom had in mind. Regina looked over the sheet, picked up a pencil from the breakfast table and circled roughly half of the problems. “Do these today and the remainder tomorrow.”

“Thanks mom!” Henry, feeling reprieved, threw his arms around Reginas' waist.

“Don't thank me yet, you still have to clean your room.”

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()())

 

Storybrooke City Park was located on the outskirts of town. It had a large man-made pond and several pavilions that could accommodate parties of various sizes. The one Emma and Regina wanted was on the far end of the pond, backing up to a forest. 

“Emma, you've driven past it twice.”

“I know Henry. Just want a lay of the land.”

“You mean like where the bathrooms are?” he wondered aloud.

“Something like that.” she replied, glancing at Regina. “Okay, here we are.” 

Emma parked the car in front of the largest outdoor building in the park. 

“Can I look around?” Henry asked.

“Yes, but don't go too far.” Emma said. 

“Oh, look,” Regina pointed at the building, “It has its own kitchen. That should make it easy for the caterer.”

“Is that next on the list?” Emma sounded like she'd rather visit the dentist.

“Yes. It's in a couple of weeks. Plenty of time for you to complain about it.” Regina replied, slipping her hand into Emmas'.

“Good.”

“Hey, Mom!” Henry called out. The ladies turned; Regina blanched at the sight of Henry riding a seesaw like a surfboard. There were a couple of kids following proper park etiquette of going down the slide instead of up, when Henry got the ladies' attention, their parental unit glanced at Henry, then Emma and called the children away. They didn't look happy about it. Neither did Emma. 

“He'll be fine.” Emma whispered to Regina, “Way to hang ten, kid!” She called out to Henry.

Regina regained her color and pointed to a structure about a hundred feet from the pavilion.

“Now we have to have it here.” she said. 

It was a gazebo. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

“One decision made, what else do we have to do?” Emma asked after they returned home. 

Regina had sent Henry to clean; as he climbed the stairs to meet his fate Regina told him she would be upstairs in an hour to see if it passed inspection. She kicked off her heels and stretched out on the couch. Emma plopped down beside her, nestling in Reginas' arms. 

“I wish he wouldn't act as if he's facing a firing squad.” 

“It's natural. No kid likes to clean their room.” Emma said.

“When I was his age I didn't mind cleaning.”

Emma sat up, wide eyed. “Get outta here!”

“I'm being serious. There's something peaceful about seeing things in their proper place.”

“You're an odd duck.”

Emma settled back into Reginas' arms and closed her eyes. 

“No I'm not. I'm a lucky duck. It hurts to think of my life before you came along.” 

“You had Henry.”

“Yes, but no one I could be completely myself with.”

“I love you too, Queenie.” Emma rose up and placed her lips upon Reginas. She pressed her form against Reginas as the brunette scooted into a reclining position, taking Emma with her. Regina wrapped her arms around Emma, pulling her closer while laying a path of kisses from Emmas' lips to her particularly sensitive earlobes. One flick of the tongue and Emma stifled a squeal and kicked against the couch. Regina dug her fingers deep into Emmas' blond locks, unwilling to release her from her embrace. “You don't play fair.” Emma gasped.

“Play?” Regina whispered, “Do you want to play...”

Emma tapped her toes against the cushions, happy as a child at Christmas. “I love that game!” she replied. “And I just got my uniform back from the cleaners!”

“Well, in that case we should take this party upstairs.”

“In a little bit, I want a turn.” Emma breathed and slid a hand inside Reginas' silk blouse. She stroked the cup of Reginas' bra, happily noting that it opened in the front. After undoing the clasp with deft and well-practiced fingers she slid the material away from Reginas' breast. “Such a sweet, hard point. And it's all...”

“The mails' here, I'll get it!” Henry yelled as he thundered down the stairs and out the front door.

Hands, lips, fingertips came to a screeching halt as the door banged shut behind him. The ladies sighed at the death of a mood and sat up to compose themselves. 

“We'll have to wait a little while.” Regina said.

“No problem. I'm patient.” Emma replied as her phone rang. “Hello David...I kind of have plans, but... why is he in the ER!?” Regina sat closer to Emma until their knees touched. “Hold on.” Emma put her hand over the receiver. “Graham is in the hospital, he had some kind of weird chest pain and the doctor wants to keep him overnight for observation.”

Regina placed a hand over her mouth, “But he's so young!”

“So I'm going in tonight. Right now, actually. Sorry.”

Regina shook her head. “It's okay. You go.”

Emma told David she'd be in as soon as possible and hung up. “Good thing I have a clean uniform.”

“Yes, but I was hoping to put it to a more fun use.”

Emma leaned in, placed her hand upon Reginas' neck and gave her love a deep kiss. Just as the kid came slouching in.

“Oh, yuck! Here's the mail.” Henry chucked a pile of envelopes and assorted advertisements on the end table before running up the stairs two at a time. “I gotta wash my eyes.” 

The ladies went their separate ways, Emma to their bedroom to change clothes and Regina to the kitchen to prepare dinner for she and Henry. She decided eating dinner out was a good idea.

 

0-0-00-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-00-

 

Henry was in a mood. Usually when he sat at Grannys' bar he'd spin his seat around like an amusement park ride. Tonight he was still and crabby. He wasn't the only one.

“Okay kid, have you decided?” Ruby asked, impatient to get the order in. 

“Nu-uh.” He replied, shaking his head. Regina saw Henrys' eyes dart across the pages of the menu, settling on a stain on the linoleum.

“I'm ready.” Regina piped up.

“Thank God.” Ruby said under her breath. “What'll you have?”

“To begin, mozzarella sticks.” 

That got Henrys' attention. Regina never ordered starters. Or fried cheese in any form. 

“A double cheeseburger, extra cheese, extra mustard; an order of onion rings and a vanilla shake with cinnamon on top.”

“You got a dog in that thing?” Ruby wondered, pointing to the oversized shoulder bag sitting on the stool next to Regina, who smiled.

“No. And I want a Chefs' salad with grilled chicken, ranch dressing on the side and a cup of coffee. No cream.”

“Okay. Be back in a jiff with your Joe.” Ruby pinned the order to the wheel above the pick-up window and poured Reginas' coffee. Then she called to Granny who was supervising a skinny college-age student in the art of flipping burgers. “Hey, Granny...”

“Yeah, I heard what they wanted.” The older woman snapped and the young man stiffened for a blow. “A heart attack special and a wish to live longer. What else do you want?”

Ruby looked around the diner, besides the two at the counter and a man in a booth, the restaurant was empty. 

“Come on, let's take a break.” she called to Granny.

Granny huffed and puffed in aggravation. “The dinner rush will be here any minute.”

“I think Linguini and Giselle can handle it. Can't you kids?” The boy hid behind a spatula while the teenage girl chirped affirmative. Granny reluctantly stepped into her office and Ruby closed the door behind them.

“That girl is too perky for her own damn good.” Granny scowled, removing her half-moon glasses and rubbing her eyes. 

Ruby chuckled in agreement.

The computer was on, Ruby looked at the screen then back at her grandmother. “You get any responses yet?”

Grannys' frown cut deeper into her features. “I deleted my account.”

“Why? It's only been up for a week! You seemed excited...okay, maybe not excited, but more like interested in the dating site.”

“It's not for me. I'll leave on-line relationships to you youngsters.”

“You're not that old.” Ruby placed her hand over Grannys'. The older woman compared the smooth, unfreckled skin of her granddaughter to her own, covered with age spots and wrinkles. She pulled her hand away and adjusted her glasses on her nose.

“Tell that to my knees. Come on, let's go back before that kid burns my business down.”

More customers had arrived during their respite and were greeted by Giselles' beaming grin. Ruby pulled out her order pad as she approached a table, her own worried smile brightening when she saw who it was. Granny stopped her and took away Rubys' orders pad.

“I've got this one.” she gestured to the plates at the window, “Help Giselle with those.”

“Okay." She said with a knowing grin. "I know when I'm not wanted.”

“So why are you still standing here?” Granny barked as she approached the booth with two men in it. “Billy, how's the shop treating you? Where's your mom? She hasn't been in lately.”

The young mechanic hid his callused, perpetually dirty hands under the table. “I haven't seen Mom all week. Between her vets' office and working at the animal shelter, she's a busy lady. My shop is hopping, everybody wants to get ready for winter.”

“Ursula works too much.” the older man said, his usual dulcet tones sounding sharp. “And you need to start paying me back.”

The young man glared at his grandfather over his menu, “Don't I give you free oil changes?”

Granny diffused a family argument by shifting her attention to the older gentleman. “Speaking of work, Mr. Waters, didn't I hear you on the radio the other night?”

He placed his menu on the table and cleared his throat, cooing to his audience in a smooth baritone. “Mrs. Lucas I shall be the late-night voice of Magic 98 until I can hire a new disc jockey.”

Grannys' usual scowl softened at the corners, a small hopeful smile growing. “Charlotte. Call me Charlotte.”

The grandson gazed back and forth between his grandfather and the restaurant owner, wondering if he was witnessing a moment.

“In that case, Charlotte, call me K.P..”

“I'd like, okay,” Granny stumbled over her words until she found her footing on more familiar grounds, “What'll you have?”

Billy was in the mood for a club sandwich and a Coke.

“I'll have your mushroom and Swiss chicken sandwich.”

“Side of fries?”

“No thank you, but I will take a small salad.”

Granny scratched his order on the pad. “Whale got you on a diet? You don't look like you need it.” She swore to throw herself into a fryer the minute she returned to the kitchen. “Dressing?”

“Italian, low fat, unfortunately. Yes, my cholesterol was a bit too high at my last visit. But I'm fighting it with diet and exercise.” K.P. said. “Swimming and long walks.” 

“That's good, you takin' care of yourself. Do you go to a gym?” Granny glanced over her glasses at K.P. who was patting his mid section; for a man reaching retirement age he was fit, but not too fit. He had a touch of softness around the middle and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, showing strong forearms. She never liked the men with muscles piled on muscles; they looked like they could snap a woman in half. 

“No, I have a pool and acreage.” 

Charlotte had a flashing image of K.P. emerging from his pool in trunks, water cascading down his form and over his dark chest. Then she imagined herself in the same pool, looking like a spud with a wig. 

“Well, I'll just get this in.” She scurried back behind the bar, pinned the order on the wheel and busied herself behind the counter straightening coffee cups that weren't crooked and wiping stains that weren't there. 

People would sit at the bar, give an order without looking up at Granny. She felt invisible. K.P. never made her feel like that. He'd look at her face when he talked to—not at—her. When Linguini set two plates at the window Ruby moved to grab them until Granny blocked her way. 

“I'll take those.” Granny said with a warning glare. “You go clear tables.”

“None of them are empty.” Ruby pointed at the restaurant, now full of customers and not one spot piled with dishes.

“Well they will be soon, so be ready for it.”

“Fine. You're in a mood. Hope it improves soon.”

With expert dexterity she picked up the plates and made her way to where K.P. and his grandson were sitting, placing the food in front of them.

“Here you go. Holler out if you need anything, like dessert.”

Granny went back to the counter and placed two more orders in front of patrons.

“Okay Madame Mayor, one diet special that you don't need to be on. And a grease lovers' dream come true. Enjoy.” 

Henry wasted no time stuffing a third of the burger into his mouth. Mustard dribbled down his chin and onto his shirt; Regina handed him a napkin between bites of her salad. She knew something was bothering him. Was it the affection she and Emma were displaying on the couch this afternoon? If so, good thing Henry hadn't come in sooner or they would have to pack dinner in to-go boxes and visit Dr. Hopper. She wondered if she should discuss intimate subjects with her son. Better coming from her than hearing something on the bus, or on the internet. Information online has to be taken with a grain of salt unless it's the CDC. But Emma had been living with them for months and Henry had seen them embrace before. No, something else was bothering him. 

“You missed a spot.” Regina pointed to a tear-shaped stain on the front of his blue t-shirt. 

“I don't care.” He mumbled.

Regina pulled a spot remover stick from her bag. “You will when it becomes an ugly stain you'll have to stare at all the time. Do you want to deal with this now or later?”

Henry dropped the onion ring onto the plate, took the stick from his mother and rubbed it on the stain.

“Thanks.” 

“You're welcome. Now, what about the thing that's bothering you?”

Henry stuffed another ring into his mouth. 

“I'm fine.”

“You've been annoyed most of this afternoon. Are you upset with Emma and I about something?”

“No. Just school stuff is all.”

That could cover subjects from algebra to puberty to the end-of-year carnival. She decided to start with the one that had been giving him headaches. “How's math going?”

“Sucks.”

“You know how I feel about that kind of talk. Did you have a test recently? What was your score?”

“C. Kind of.”

“And that means what?” Regina pulled her phone out of her shoulder bag and brought up the schools' Parent Access Board to check grades.

“I suck at algebra. It was a C minus.”

She dropped the phone in her bag and patted Henry on the back; he rolled his eyes like 'Jeez, Mom, not in public!' Regina didn't care. She leaned closer to Henry and spoke in a low tone, “Maybe it's time to hire a private tutor.” 

“Write it across the sky, why don't you!” Henry whined and shoved another onion ring into his mouth. 

“There's nothing shameful about asking for help.” She noticed a small shrug coming from her son. “Okay, I'll call the school Monday. Are you alright? Something else bothering you?” Regina picked up a forkful of salad and chewed slowly, letting Henry become comfortable. 

“No." he frowned, "Well, kind of.”

Regina nodded.

“I didn't get an invitation yet.” He mumbled.

“For what?”

“The Tillman twins, you know them?”

“Ava and Nicholas, yes. You've talked about them before.”

“Every October they throw a tight Halloween bash. Like last year they turned their back yard into a haunted house, they played “bob for body parts” and “brain dash.” 

“What's that?”

“A game where you use a skeleton hand to hold a bloody brain; you run across the yard to your partner and try to put it in their skeleton hand and not drop it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“They had a dry ice machine, a D.J. dressed like Frankenstein and finger foods that looked like real fingers!”

“I remember, you talked about it for days afterward.” Regina actually thought it sounded a bit too extreme for her tastes, but she was a boring adult, so what did she know? “And?”

“Last year they sent out invitations at the beginning of school. We've been in session for two weeks and I haven't gotten mine yet.”

“And you're worried you won't get one?”

Henry felt saying it would make it too real, so he sipped his milkshake and nodded.

“Ask on Monday.”

He shrugged again, “Yeah, I guess I could.”

They spent the remainder of the meal in silence only parents could understand; she wanted to find out what he was thinking and he was silent as a clam. Granny dropped the check in front of Regina.

“Room for cake or pie?”

Regina shook her head and asked for a to-go box for the remainder of Henrys' rings. She knew he'd have them in the morning, even though she felt they weren't an appropriate breakfast food. They thanked Granny and left a generous tip. Granny picked up the bills on the way to the pie display. She tucked the money into her pocket, opened the glass door and cut a generous portion of Dutch Apple pie. She walked to the booth where K.P. Waters was sitting with his grandson and placed the plate in front of him.

“I didn't order this.” he pointed to the pie.

“You didn't. Somebody else did then changed their mind. Once it's cut it has to be eaten or thrown out and I don't like to waste food. So here you go.”

“Have any more slices?” asked Billy.

“No.” Granny gruffed, “You want one for yourself you'll have to pay for it.”

K.P. smiled, “I'll share. Thank you Charlotte.”

Granny looked over her frames at the older gentleman and grinned. His look lingered.

“Don't mention it. What are you staring at?”

“I didn't know you had green eyes.”

Granny affixed her glasses higher on her bridge. “Yeah, well. Anyway, here's your check.”

“Will you tune in later?” K.P. proposed. 

Granny fidgeted with her wristwatch, “Maybe. Your show is kind of late for me. Never been a night-owl. Thanks for coming in.”

With that, Granny returned to the kitchen and the two men left the restaurant. On the way to the station that night, K.P. remembered the softness of Charlottes' eyes; darker than sage, lighter than moss. They reminded K.P. of early summer, when everything is blooming. He wondered about her age; everyone called her 'Granny' but she didn't look any older than himself, and he wasn't old enough to collect social security yet. Maybe she looks older because of her white hair. Snow on the roof, fire in the furnace? Maybe? A woman—especially one that charges extra for pickles—doesn't give away pie for nothing. K.P. shook his head and was interrupted by a voice coming from the passenger seat.

“Gramps, you forgot to drop me off.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Emma sat in her patrol car and watched the silver BMW swerve into a gas station parking lot, do a U turn and drive back towards town, only slightly above the speed limit. Nobody got hurt, so it wasn't worth the bother of pulling them over. She kept an eye on the car until it turned a corner, by then the driver had slowed down. She found a comfortable position in the drivers' seat and sipped her black coffee. Her boss, David Nolan, had texted her a half-hour before with updates on Grahams' condition. 

Still taking tests. Should know something later.

Emma guessed that meant by the end of her shift, which was one o'clock in the morning. Hope it's good news, she thought, usually only bad news comes at that hour. Graham Humbert was in his early thirties, a few years older than herself. Was he there by himself, she wondered. He never talked about family so Emma assumed he didn't have one, or one close-by. Nobody should have to go through that alone. 

“I'll stop by on my way after work.” she said aloud and glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “In six hours.” Emma took a drink and grimaced; the coffee had gone cold. She fussed at herself for not putting it in a fancy thermos like Regina does for work. Her thoughts circled around to the wedding as she put the car in drive to do her rounds; Regina had asked her opinion about veils. “No way. Something that gauzy close to my face makes me think of spiderwebs.” She drove each route twice, once in one direction, the second time in the opposite direction. When she started at the Sheriffs' station her tendency was to stay in the shadows, on side streets and in alleys. David had reminded her that it was better to make her presence known to the public. So she listened and adhered to the policy, for the most part. Tonight she drove up Main Street, took a left at the library and turned onto Caselotti; the Junior High and Storybrooke School Administration buildings took up most of the block. There were dozens of cars on the parking lot and the gymnasium was lit up. There was a bus with a sign on the side: “Tremayne Academy Devil Cats.” 

“Must be a basketball game or something. Wait, it's October. Isn't basketball a winter sport?” Emma tended to talk to herself while on patrol, a habit she developed spending long hours on stakeout as a Bail Bondsman. She pulled onto the parking lot and slowly circled around, not exactly on her route, but it showed initiative in keeping the public safe. She had finished a wide loop of the lot when she saw lights coming from inside a vehicle parked on Clements, a street parallel to the gym. The source of illumination seemed to be coming from the persons' cell phone. Limbs from century-old oak trees hung over the cars parked on the side street, making it difficult to get a make or model. The figure inside was hunkered over the steering wheel. “Either sick or waiting for something. Or someone.” She was wondering how to get to there from here without being seen when a loud bang came from the school. People were throwing doors open and pouring out of the gym, some carrying a large trophy. Emma let go of the breath she had been holding. By the time she looked onto Clements, the vehicle was gone. 

Emma spent the first half of her shift writing out two speeding tickets to teenagers. Both of whom whined: "My Mom's/Dad's gonna kill me!" She replied: "Don't worry, I'll arrest them if they do." Around ten o'clock a call came from The Rabbit Hole about a fight; she arrived to break up an altercation and was puked on by a drunk. He apologized the whole way to the station and again when Emma put him into a cell for the night.

“Oh, my God what a stench!” David exclaimed as he entered the station with moving boxes. “Tell me you're going to shower, or at least wipe down.”

“Yeah, I took a sponge bath and this,” she gestured to her clean uniform, “is my spare. I threw the other one in the wash. I'll get it at the end of my shift.”

“How's the patrol car? Any chunks?”

“No. But it smells. If I have to bring in anybody else, they'll want to ride on the roof.” She noticed more boxes were stacked around Davids' desk. “What's all that?”

David shook his head. “I picked up the rest of my stuff from Kathryn.”

“That's your ex-wife, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So what's in there, college t-shirts? Favorite movies? Ashes of anything you love?”

“She's not like that.” Emma raised her eyebrows at David defending his ex. “I'm not saying she and Mary Margaret will be having lunch together anytime soon, but the divorce went smoother than I expected. Amicable. Almost civilized.”

“I heard she threw a hammer at your head and you had a metal plate put in.”

“It was a hair dryer and I only required a large Band-aid. I tell ya, small town rumors.”

“Speaking of hospitals, have you heard about Graham?”

“Yeah, he texted me after he was released. Said the doctor wants him to see a specialist. And he offered to take any of your shifts as a thank you.” 

“Nice of him, but not necessary.” 

“I'd imagine he'd like some sleep in a real bed. When I told Mary Margaret about Graham she wanted to send him flowers.”

“Nah. He's a reader. Zane Grey and Willa Cather type of guy.”

David cocked his head in confusion.

“He sometimes leaves books in the patrol car. I'm heading back out. Keep me posted.”

“Will do. I'll catch up on reports and babysit our guest.”

-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=--=-=-=-=\

For the rest of her shift there wasn't much for Emma to do but watch the grass grow. She traded texts with Regina a few times (against regulations, but everybody does it, so what can you do?) They discussed the wedding To Do list and Henrys' concern about the party invitation. As far as the kid was concerned, all he could do was ask and wait. But she remembered the lady at the park, pulling her kids away from the vicinity of Emma and Regina. There was fallout from being out. If it was just herself, Emma would tell people to screw the horse they rode in on. But she was about to become a parent and she had to think how it would affect Henry. 

Shortly before she left the station Emma sent Regina a text.

On my way home. Need anything?

Regina replied: Only you. Don't be long.

Emma made it home in record time (aren't cops allowed to break the speed limit?) She found Regina in the living room reading the paper. 

“My office, now, Officer Swan.” Regina wore a hungry grin. 

“Yes, Madame Mayor.” 

When the door was securely locked Regina took a seat at her desk. Emma remained standing.

“Officer Swan, do you know how I spent my evening?”

“No, m'am. I don't.”

“Going over the citys' budget. It seems the Storybrooke coffers are short and a few things will have to go.”

“Like what?”

“Your patrol car. You can ride a bike.”

“Where am I supposed to put suspects, in a wicker basket?”

“Good point,” Regina tapped the desktop with her well-manicured fingers. “Your uniform then. Start with those ugly boots.”

Emma quickly removed the military style footwear. 

“Not bad, we just saved the city several hundred dollars.”

“And I feel lighter already. Any other ways we can economize?”

“Come here.” 

Emma stepped closer to her love, who remained seated. She reached for Emmas' waistband, “These trousers are ugly,” Regina stated while unzipping the pants. She slipped her fingers into the belt loops and pulled the polyester material over Emmas' hips, letting them slide onto the floor. 

“They're functional and easy to clean, though.” Emma sighed, knowing how close Reginas' face was to her bikini bottoms.

Regina reached around and squeezed Emmas' backside. “They don't accentuate your finer features.”  
Emma wondered if her lover was as wet as she was.

“What else has to be eliminated?” she asked.

“The shirt,” Regina ordered. “Take it off, now.”

While Emma unbuttoned her top and placed it on the desk, Regina slipped a finger into the blonds' panties. She dipped her index finger into a pool that had formed in Emmas' crotch. “So wet, so wet.” Regina whispered as she licked off the moisture. Emma had placed a hand on Reginas' head, petting her black hair. “Let's see what else you have.” Regina teased Emma, flicking and dipping her fingers along the folds. Emma whined when Regina pulled out. “Are you glad of the budget cuts, Officer Swan?”

“Oh, my fucking god, yes.”

Regina tapped Emmas' clit once, twice. The standing woman trembled in anticipation.

“I'd love more, please.” 

Regina chuckled, “You know I do whatever you want...when you say please.” With that, Madam Mayor guided Emma onto the desk and out of her underwear. “Eager, are you?” Regina smiled at the sight of Emmas' legs spread open. 

“For my Queenie,” Emma replied, her voice low and hoarse, “always. Come and get it.”

Later as the ladies were drifting off to sleep, Emma thanked Regina for being adventurous; even though her elbows and back would be sore the following morning and they might not be able to get the lipstick stains off her uniform shirt, it had been worth it. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Monday was a busy day for Henry. He handed in a mostly done sheet of algebra homework and was given back a paper marked with Have Parents Sign in red ink. During science he dissected a cows' eyeball. At lunch he tried to get Ava Tillmans' attention, but she was gossiping with her girlfriends, their heads bent over the screen of a contraband phone. On the way home a spitball fight broke out on the bus. The driver pulled over and gave a Big Speech about setting a good example for the youngest students on the bus, even though the second graders hacked a few lugies of their own. 

Henry and a gang of students poured out of the bus, most of them eager to get away from adults during their walk to their homes. He was worried what his moms would say about his grade. He didn't want a tutor, that person could blast it around town how he had failed math! Henry was so absorbed trying to protect his teenage ego from bruising he didn't hear the bus driver yell out the window. He was halfway home when he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head. Henry put a hand to his head and touched blood. He turned around and saw no one. He kept his hand on the wound the whole way home.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

“Maybe a car kicked up a rock.” Emma proposed while looking over the wound. “It happened to the Beetle once. Somebody on the highway drove over a rock and it made a golf ball sized indention in the windshield.”

Regina paused, the tube of antiseptic inches from Henrys' head. “Thank you for the imagery, Emma. There, all done. The cut's not deep, but the skin on a head is thin, that's why you bled so much. Oh, damn.”

“I have an infection and don't have to go to school tomorrow?” Henry asked, hopeful.

“No.” Regina stood with her hands on her hips, “I forgot to call the school and ask about tutors. I'm sorry.”

“I'm not. How's the wedding plans coming?” Henry hoped to steer the conversation away from schoolwork. “You gonna hire a band?”

“No, kid. Regina and I have decided on a DJ, if they're not expensive.”

*(*(*(*(*(*(*(**(((*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*((*(

While the ladies were going over their budget (but not the fun one) another couple across town were going over theirs. 

David and Mary Margaret had achieved a new level of intimacy living in her efficiency apartment; reaching across the couch/Murphy bed/dining room table could be interpreted as foreplay. Good thing the bed was always pulled away from the wall. Now that David had brought a dozen moving boxes of assorted sizes home with him, there were now no more places to sit. Unless company wanted to sit on the boxes. Or the floor. 

“Thank god we don't have a pet, they'd have to sleep in the sink.” David complained as he fell on the bed, literally because he tripped over a box. “When is the appointment with Weaselton?”

“It's Weselton, you know that. Next Friday afternoon.”

“Holiday?”

“No, it's professional development day. How to use new programs and such.” Mary Margaret grumbled.

“It's not like you to be grouchy. What's up?” David asked, wrapping his strong arms around his girl.

“Principal Forrest will be there, making us sit through a long, unnecessary meeting. She'll make snide remarks about the staff. Who wastes more copy paper, who takes the longest to learn a new system. Among other things.”

David was looking at his Credit Karma report, hopeful. 

“Like what?” he frowned at the paltry score. 

“Us.” Mary Margaret said in a small voice.

“What did she say?” David tossed his phone aside and held his girlfriend tight. 

“I was in the break room talking to Arista Shell, you know her, she's the girls' gym teacher.”

David nodded.

“We said what we were doing over the weekend. I told her I was hanging out here, getting lesson plans together because you were working.” She paused, “Principal Forrest came in asking if I was sure about that. She implied that you were lying to me.”

“The hell!? What exactly did she say?” David sounded as if he were taking a witness statement.

“She asked how could I be certain, since you used to lie to Kathryn. So you could see me.”

A cloud passed over Davids' usually bright blue eyes, turning them dark. “I could have her car towed, if you want.”

“That's sweet that you would abuse your power for me, but no thanks.” she leaned closer, giving David a long, lingering kiss. “How about giving me a smile?”

“I know just how to do that.” 

They didn't leave the couch/bed/table for the rest of the night.


	5. Everybody's Changing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> family shenaniganery  
> hold onto your metaphorical hats, horses, seats, and all other idioms relating to the turmoil that is this fictional universe.  
> -The One Who Comes Up With All The Good Oneliners*
> 
> *my daughter wrote that one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for bullying, feeling like you don't measure up, living with a sketchy past, parents arguing about money, differences in parenting styles, new characters introduced, wedding plans, think you're friends.

Storybrooke PTA, Chapter Five

 

Everybody's Changing by Richard David Hughes, Timothy James Rice-Oxley, Tom Chaplin

You say you wander your own land  
But when I think about it  
I don't see how you can

You're aching, you're breaking  
And I can see the pain in your eyes  
Says everybody's changing   
And I don't know why

So little time  
Try to understand that I'm   
Trying to make a move just to stay in the game  
I try to stay awake and remember my name  
But everybody's changing and I don't feel the same

You're gone from here  
Soon you will disappear  
Fading into beautiful light  
'Cause everybody's changing   
And I don't feel right

So little time  
Try to understand that I'm   
Trying to make a move just to stay in the game  
I try to stay awake and remember my name  
But everybody's changing and I don't feel the same

 

September was drawing to a close. Henry had been so busy cursing the invention of algebra that he hadn't had time to corner one of the Tillman twins. And that's what it felt like. He and Nicholas Tillman were in the same gym class together, but he seemed in a rush to get in and out of the locker room before Henry could talk to him. Weird. If they passed in the hallway, Nicholas would duck his head down and walk faster. It was no use talking to Ava. She hung around with a flock of giggly girls; Henry would sometimes see them in the cafeteria at lunchtime or in the back of the library hunched over a phone that shouldn't have been out. He took his phone out of his backpack one day and sat it on a table, to find a book, and was given a stern finger wagging by an unsmiling teacher. That never happened to Ava, she'd receive a softer reprimand, like what a kindergartener would hear. 

Finally one morning while changing for gym, Henry was able to capture Nicholas' attention. Nicholas was pulling a stiff workout shirt over his head (the same one he'd worn all week) and when his face popped out of the neck opening, there was Henry staring at him and asking a question.

“So, when's the party?”

Nicholas looked stupefied, like he'd just seen boobs for the first time.

“Huh?”

“I said, when's the party? The Halloween party you guys always have. Is it gonna be the night of or the weekend before? I gotta know what costume to pick out.”

Nicholas breathed through his mouth like he had just run a mile. “I'll ask my Dad.” With that he hurdled a wooden bench between two rows of lockers and bolted out the door to the gymnasium. Henry walked onto the basketball court to the sound of the coach blowing his whistle. 

“You two slackers,” he yelled as Henry looked at the boy standing behind him, “take ten laps for showing up late.”

The two boys groaned and took off running.

“That's okay,” the other boy said. “I don't like dodge ball.” The remaining students dug balls the size of cantaloupes from a storage bin filled with soccer and footballs. 

Henrys' shins felt like they were on fire by the end of the first lap. “Rough game.” he said with experience. A whistle was blown and boys in the center court began lobbing balls at each other. Henry saw that some participants were on the sidelines already, victims of being tagged. Or were they there by choice? A few of the bigger kids were ignoring the “no face” rule. They interpreted it as “hit them until they have no face.” When the coach saw the violation, he blew his whistle and put the offender on the sidelines for a time. 

They fell silent to conserve energy and spit. The game of survival continued on the main court. Sometimes a ball would bounce into the path of the runners and the boys would kick it back into play. 

“Who's the guy staring at us?” 

“Which one?” Henry asked, wanting the laps to be over and to soak in a jacuzzi.

“Pointy jaw, dirty blonde hair.” he panted.

“Felix Dandridge.” Henry said as a cold chill crawled down his back. The boy stared with cold gray eyes like a possum as Henry darted past.

Five laps to go, Henry thought as a ball bounced into his path. He was about to kick it onto the court when a voice rang out.

It was too late. One minute Henry was finishing his sixth lap, the next he was cradling his head in his hands. A sharp pain encompassed his right eye. The world became bright, fuzzy and sideways. Little miners were digging their way out of Henrys' skull with jack hammers. The high-pitched shrill of a whistle stopped the game, the coach trotted over and inspected Henrys' eye. Seeing that Henrys' eye wasn't dangling out of its socket, the coach said, “Ralph,”

“Roland.” the boy corrected.

“Yeah, take him to the nurse.” the coach said.

On the way out someone said, “He went soft from living with queers.”

A report was made, Advil administered and parents called. A short time later Emma arrived and demanded to see the coach, who was conveniently busy.

“Which way's the gym, I'll get him myself.”

Facing a pissed off parent was bad enough, but when said mother was dressed in deputy sheriffs' uniform, complete with mace and firearm, all the secretary could do was point down the hall. Emma could be heard stomping down the corridor and was met halfway to the gym by the coach. Teachers on that side of the building could hear muffled and raised voices from behind their classroom doors (guess which ones belonged to who.) 

“Nobody saw anything?” Emma shouted, “Bullshit, somebody saw something!”

“What do you want me to do Miss Swan?” he hissed. “I can't force the boys to talk.”

“Watch 'Carrie', be inspired. I'm getting my kid.”

Emma collected Henry from the nurses' office. It smelled like sweat and astringent. He had an ice pack on the right side of his face.

“Let's see.” said Emma and Henry lowered the pack. An angry purple bruise was forming on the outside edge of the eye socket. 

“Not as bad as it could've been.” noted the running partner. “A bit more to the left and that football would've caused some serious damage.” 

“That's one way of looking at it.” Emma said. “Who are you?”

“I'm Roland Capuche. We were running laps when it happened and I walked him down. Students have to be escorted to the nurses' office.”

“Why didn't the coach do it?”

Roland shrugged his shoulders. 

“Well, thanks Roland.”

“Not the first time I've helped somebody up when they were down. Happened to me plenty.” He said matter-of-factly. “And you're welcome.” 

“What's your parents' number? In case I have to reach you.”

He gave her the number.

The boys said their goodbyes while Emma gathered Henrys' belongings and bundled him into the squad car. Emma asked questions as she drove.

“Did you see where the ball came from?”

“No.”

“What happened just before you got hit?”

“I was running.”

“You weren't in the game?”

“No.”

“Why?”

He told her why. “It's a stupid game.”

Emma snorted through her nose. “No argument there.”

“Can you please not interrogate me now?”

“I'm not interrogating, I'm parenting.”

“Feel like a suspect.” Henry mumbled.

Emma sighed. “Well, here's something I don't say to suspects. I love you.”

“Thanks. I love you too, Emma.”

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][

 

Roland preferred walking home after school, the commute was shorter and quieter. But it had started to rain after school, so he was forced to take the bus. Roland hated riding the school bus, it meant he had to tolerate noise. In this case, it was coming from the Westleton brothers, Oskar and Oliver, who were throwing insults and assorted trash found on the floor at him. 

“Monkey boy, hey monkey boy!” Oskar called out and threw an empty juice box at Roland, who saw it out of the corner of his eye and ducked. Years of practice gave him good reflexes. The reddish-blonde boy cursed when the projectile hit the floor instead of his target. Then Oskar moved up closer to Roland as the bus lurched along. He pushed his way onto a seat behind his quarry and leaned over, mere inches from Rolands' face.

“Hey monkey boy. Is it true what they say? Your dad is scared of girls?” Oskar looked out from under heavy brows and picked his bulbous nose with a middle finger. “Afraid of pussy. That's why he won't go to the school?” He looked at the booger, like he was debating what to do with it. 

Roland was trying to ignore the eighth-grade brute. Oskar was a head taller than himself, built like a tank and a skull shaped like a gourd. It was rumored (in Storybrooke, what wasn't?) that the high-school football coach was scouting Oskar for his freshman year. 

The bus rolled to a stop and several students pushed past Oskar, wanting to leave the smell of school behind. Roland got up, reached for his backpack and tried walking away from an unpleasant situation. He didn't get far. 

“Hey! I'm talkin' to you!” Oskar wrapped his meaty hand around Rolands' wrist and tried jerking the smaller boy closer. Roland made a fist with the hand of the captured arm, grabbed it with the other hand and in one swift move up and toward himself, jerked free and ran for the exit. Oliver Westelton ambled up to his brother and took a seat opposite him.

“Dude, close your mouth, you're catching flies.”

 

^&^&^&^&^&^&^&^&^&^&^&^&^&^&

 

It was several blocks to his Moms' business and he'd be soaked to the skin when he got there, but Roland didn't care. What mattered was he used his training properly and he got out of a fight. Some would say he ran away, but he who fights and runs away, right? He flung the front door open and was greeted by a woman with black hair, light tawny skin and a toned figure. She wore workout pants and a t-shirt, both in black. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. 

“Baby, hi! Oh, you're dripping all over the floor, go get changed in my office.” 

Roland emerged a few minutes later in an outfit that matched hers and shoving the last of a ham and Swiss on rye sandwich in his mouth. “I raided your fridge, Mom.” 

“I noticed. Help me with the mats.” The two pulled thick mats from the corner of the studio and spread them on the floor. “Next class starts in an hour. Wanna join?”

Roland shook his head and rubbed his stomach. “I don't think that sandwich is sitting well.” It was true, partly, his stomach was upset, but not just from the food.

“That's what you get for gobbling it down like a goat, Roly Poly.” He cringed at the nickname he'd had since babyhood. 

“Besides, you're teaching the old lady class.” 

“It'll be good for you. Get up and moving and your stomach will feel better.”

“They pinch my cheeks... Mom,” Roland hesitated, a wonder nagging at him since the bus. Marian could sense something was on his mind, but didn't push. She wanted Roland to approach when he felt comfortable.

“Yes baby?”

“Can I have that brownie that's in the fridge?” He asked in a rush.

Marian nodded and he was off in a flash. Her son didn't feel comfortable today.

*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(

 

Robin parked his truck in front of the house, unlocked the door and was greeted by the smells of pizza with everything.

“That'll hit the spot.” he said as he entered the kitchen. Marian gave him a long kiss before handing him three slices on a paper plate. “So does that.” She smiled and stole a slice from his plate. “Where's the kid?”

“Watching YouTube videos in the living room.” Nothing else for it, she thought, dive right in. “I think something's bothering him.”

“Like what? Girls, sports or the fact that he's the only kid on the planet who doesn't have a phone?” Marian sniggered at Robins' spot-on imitation of Rolands' whining. 

“I don't know what. He came to the studio a half hour early and soaked to the bone.”

“I'm listening.”

“He acted like he wanted to say something, but maybe he was too embarrassed. Maybe it was the subject. Maybe it's because I'm mom. Would you try?”

“I'll give it a shot.” Robin said before biting into a slice.

Roland was watching a meme video, laughing around mouthfuls of pizza. Robin plopped down on the couch next to his son. He ruffled Rolands' hair and regretted it instantly, it was stiff with sweat.

“You are going to shower tonight.”

“Yeah, Dad I will.”

The two sat in silence, the question of how to progress weighing on Robins' mind. The video ended and Robin picked up the remote.

“Mind if I choose?”

“No, go ahead.” Roland said, stuffing another slice into his mouth.

A scene came on screen. Two bucks had managed to tangle themselves, horns and all, in a wire fence. 

“You okay?” Robin asked, “You look bugged.”

Roland wanted to say something. But he felt like those animals, so wrapped up in a problem there didn't seem a way for them to get out on their own. 

“Look at that.” Robin pointed to the screen. Two men approached the bucks and using wire cutters carefully cut the animals free. “That's what I like to see, a positive ending.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Isn't it better when we help each other?”

_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+

 

“Not a word? He didn't say anything?” Marian huffed as she applied night moisturizer to her face and neck before bed. “Incredible.”

“Teenagers.” Robin shrugged. “The emotional equivalent of Fort Knox. But I could sense he was bothered.”

“Still, I'd like to demand to know what's going on,” Marian tapped her temple, “Up here.”

Robin shook his head. “Do that and he'll feel like he doesn't have any privacy.”

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Roland laid in bed that night, thoughts bouncing around his brain like ping pong balls in a dryer. He thought about girls. And what Oskar Westelton said. And his Mom and Dad. And girls. And if there was any leftover pizza in the fridge. And how he would have loved to have put Oskars' nose out of joint and smile while the blood ran down the older boys' face. But his Mom wouldn't have approved and Roland would have been grounded until he was dead and then he would never get a phone. And girls. Oskar was wrong about Dad, he had to be. Roland had seen Dad around other women and never looked like he'd been dropped in a horror movie. Maybe it was different with girls that weren't Mom, like aunts and co-workers; maybe he puts on a brave face. He doesn't act scared of Mom, Roland thought. They're always holding hands or cuddling on the couch. No, Oskar was wrong. Dad wasn't afraid of pussy...Roland shook his head at the thought of putting the words 'pussy' and 'Mom' remotely near each other. No. Just no. 

 

_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+

 

“Seventy-six, seventy-seven, seventy-eight,” Felix Dandridge organized the assorted small bills into piles on his bed and counted aloud, “fifty-nine. Shit.” Felix had been distracted by the shouting downstairs. His Mom and step-Dad were at it again. He put the paper money down and counted loose change. “Seventy-nine dollars, twenty-seven cents.” In this house there were two types of volume: off and eleven. He walked to the calendar tacked to his closet door. November seventeenth was circled in red permanent ink with 'Black Hook' written in silver. Felix had mowed yards all summer to save enough for a decent seat at the concert of his favorite band. Rumor had it the 'Batten Down' tour was going to be their last. 

Felix shook his head. Maybe it would be better if they did split up. Killian Jones not only wrote all their greatest hits: 'Another Mans' Woman,' 'You Can't Handle Me,' 'Trophy of Regret,' 'Fair Enough,' but sang them as well. Yes, it could be argued that it was Edward Thatchs' talent on lead guitar that made the songs come alive. So egos grew and resentment built over the years. A lot of “You'd be nothing without me!” Now—according to Entertainment Weekly--Killian Jones had been approached by Tony Award winner Cindi Lauper to combine their talents for a new Broadway show. Felix was torn, if Black Hook broke up that would be the end of the magic. But maybe the start of something better.

More screaming, only clearer this time. It was probably about money again. Or since the problem is never solved, would it be still? In any case, it had gone on since Malcolm had come home after work. His parents had decided to take the argument upstairs. Or maybe his mom locked herself in the bedroom, again. Or maybe, Felix thought with a suppressed groan, they're going to settle the fight by fucking. 'If they do that,' Felix thought, 'I'll have to climb onto the roof until they're done because my ear buds are shot.'

“Eight hundred dollars,” Malcolm Peters shouted at his wife, “for a purse?!”

Felix heard his mother, Gerri Dandridge emit a gasp of disgust at her husband. They were right outside his door. And Felix now not only had to hear them, he had to pee. 

“It was on sale, I don't see what you're getting upset about.” 

“We could've used that money on new shocks and struts, for one. Besides, you already have a half dozen bags on the bottom of the closet. You don't need a new one! Did you raid savings again?”

“I used my own credit card.”

“Another one?! Will you pay the bill with money that you make? Oh, that's right, you're unemployed!”

“I don't need a job, darling. That's why I have you. And if you were a better provider, I would've gotten the bag that costs twice as much.”

“If you were a partner instead of a leech, we'd be able to afford a lot of things.”

Gerri paused and changed tactics.

“Come to bed,” Gerri purred, “And I'll make you forget this nasty money business.”

Would he, Felix wondered. The boy didn't know it, but Gerri didn't offer sex to Malcolm unless she felt cornered. Sex had gotten her out of plenty of jams in the past. The pressure in his bladder was starting to hurt. Felix opened his door to the sight of his parents blocking the bathroom across the hall. They became silent as stones at his entrance. Malcolm was the first to speak.

“Hey son. How are you? Did you eat yet?”

Felix mumbled something about leftovers in the fridge and Malcolm nodded. 

“How was your day?”

The boy wasn't about to admit that coach made everyone in gym class run laps for the remainder of the hour because of what Felix did. “Fine.”

“Parent/teacher meetings in a couple of weeks. How's English coming along?”

“It's called Language Arts now and it sucks as much as it did last year. And the year before.”

“We'll talk to your teacher about it. In the meantime, do your best and hang in there.”

“Right. Do you guys mind?” Felix said, pointing to the bathroom door. The parents parted. He closed the door behind him and could still hear his parents in the hallway. 

“I want you.” Gerri whispered and Malcolm, who wanted something other than his left hand, caved.

Felix heard the shuffling of feet and door to the Master bedroom click closed. 

Gerri hadn't asked Felix about his day. 

 

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

 

Meanwhile, in the Mills/Swan house across town, a discussion was going on. Regina never yelled, she discussed. She debated. She heard all sides of an argument before reaching a decision.   
While this was the rational way to handle a problem, Henry liked the idea of Emma kicking ass and taking names. 

“What makes you think a blanket punishment will work?”

“Always did in the homes.”

It was no secret in the house that Emma had spent her childhood in Foster Care. Regina and Emma didn't believe in keeping secrets from their boy, but would invoke 'Vegas Rules' to ensure private business didn't become common knowledge. 

“You mean if enough pressure was applied, someone would break? Squeal?”

“Yeah. It doesn't take long. A few days doing calisthenics and somebody'll talk.”

“I don't like it. I wish you would have called me. I would've handled it differently.”

“I tried. Your secretary said you were in meetings and couldn't be disturbed.”

“I'll have a talk with Mrs. Potts tomorrow about the definition of 'Emergency.'”

“I think I handled it just fine.”

Regina harumphed. “Stomping around the school, yelling for the coach...”

“I didn't yell for him, I yelled at him. And sometimes a higher volume is called for. Lets them know you're serious. Like a spanking is a speech before the speech.”

Regina shook her head, “That type of parenting makes no sense to me. Henrys' eye looks terrible. It's already turning purple.”

“It's just a shiner. He'll live. Maybe this'll teach him to be on his guard more often.”

“Do you think it was deliberate?”

“We're lesbians in love and want to get married. We even announced it in the local paper. What do you think?”

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Henry laid on his bed with an ice pack on his eye. Emma told him to keep it on for twenty minutes at a time, then take a break for two hours. He took two Aleve before bed, but it didn't take care of all the pain. A nagging throb hurt his eye and a feeling of dread persisted in the pit of his stomach. He had a suspicion who threw the football, but no proof. He couldn't walk up to the older, taller boy and make an accusation, Felix would turn him into hamburger. Henry wished he knew of a way to protect himself. He liked Emma sticking up for him; Regina would have done the same in her own procedural way. But he couldn't hide behind Emmas' badge and attitude forever. He retrieved his phone from his night stand and looked up 'Self-Defense Moves' on YouTube. Some looked promising. Henry started feeling better. Except he didn't understand why Nicholas was acting so weird.


	6. I Want You (She's So Heavy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into the characters' backgrounds and histories, what's going on in their lives right now.   
> Wedding prep, prejudice, relationships past and present, living with regret, making a future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Kinky sex, prejudice, Cajun cooking.

Storybrooke PTA, Chapter Six

I Want You (She's So Heavy) by John Lennon, Paul McCartney

I want you  
I want you so bad  
I want you  
I want you so bad  
It's driving me mad  
It's driving me mad

She's so heavy  
Heavy, heavy, heavy heavy

 

Blue Fey looked at her bank balance again. Five figures in checking and savings each. She had healthy Mutual Funds and long-term CD's racking up interest and dividends. Her Mercedes was almost paid off and she owned her two-bedroom condo thanks to selling Mom and Dads' house after they died. Blues' parents talked for years about what should be done after they were gone; the house and contents were to be sold and monies split between the girls. But that didn't happen, did it? And a verbal contract isn't worth the paper it's printed on. Mom and Dad neglected to draw up wills and while little sis was reeling with grief, Blue sold Mom and Dads' Dutch Colonial and didn't share a solitary dime of profit with Astrid. That was five years ago, and they haven't spoken since.

As long as Blue had it. That's all that mattered.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=

“How long do you plan to lay there like that?” Leroy looked at his wife, Astrid, who was lying on her back with her knees pulled to her chest.

“A few minutes,” she said, hopeful. “It's supposed to help the sperm along.”

Leroy chuckled, “I think they know which way to go.” He sighed as Astrid tucked a pillow under her hips. “Where did you get this idea?”

“A magazine. Go ahead and laugh, but women in the article said it helped.”

“Sounds like a bunch of hokum to me. Like the time you steamed your vagina...”

“Didn't work, but it made my skin softer.”

Leroy smiled at the memory. “True. Or when you wanted to drink cough syrup.”

“Yeah, not one of my best ideas.”

“Next thing you'll tell me is that you want us to eat wild yams.”

“Would you?” Astrid smiled up at her husband. Leroy loved her bright smile, the way it spread across her lips and lit up her eyes. He hoped their kids would have her smile. 

“Yeah I will, I don't like 'em, but I'll eat 'em. But with winter coming up, I won't be going commando anymore. Winter in Maine means layers.”

Truth be told, the couple had tried every position and old wives' tale to start a family. But it had been a year since Astrid went off the Pill and their spare bedroom was painted neither pink or blue. 

Astrid was getting worried, so she talked to her OBGYN who recommended they speak to a specialist in South Portland. So they made the call and a reminder was set in both their phones for some time in November. Until then, all they could do was try. And try they did; sometimes Astrid would jump Leroy the minute he walked in from work, without so much as foreplay. Leroy was starting to feel like he was doing a job instead of enjoying himself. Even men need a few sweet words.

“Hey,” Leroy smiled and climbed onto the bed next to Astrid, “How about dinner out and then try again after? Just for fun?”

 

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-000--0-0-0-0-0-0-00-0-0- 

“So what's next?” Emma sighed. It was taking forever to get through the Wedding To Do list. Every weekend the ladies were doing something wedding related. They reserved the large pavilion for June and paid the Parks Department. They visited a local florist called Game of Thorns, which prompted jokes from Emma about copyright infringement. Moe French, the owner, gushed about his accomplishments with roses and after seeing an arrangement of three different types and colors of flowers, a down payment was written for arrangements and bouquets. Instead of a handshake, Mr. French gave the ladies a bear hug each; Regina almost disappeared within his embrace. Last Saturday they decided who to invite and which style of invitation to send; Emma voted against the type that looked like a scroll. The postage on that one would put them in the poorhouse. Emma looked at the list; three items marked off, a thousand yet to go. “Music. Okay, disc jockey or band?”

Regina took a bite out of the apple she was holding and put the fruit down. “I vote for a disc jockey. Bands usually want to spend their breaks at the bar, then they play loud and off-key.”

“Have much experience with bands?” Emma and Regina were on the living room couch, Emma resting her feet on Reginas' lap. 

“When I was sixteen I attended Alice Dodgsons' cotillion...” Regina began.

“What's that?” Emma shook her head.

“A cotillion is like a 'coming out' party.”

“They have parties for gays?”

Regina playfully swatted Emmas' leg. “No. It's similar to a prom.”

“I don't get it.”

“Well you get a new ballgown and your date picks you up in a limo...”

“I know what a prom is, I've seen lots of teenagers stumbling out of Daddys' car with their skirt on sideways.”

“What kind of school did you attend?”

“Hard Knocks High. And you?” Emma was touchy about her past and between the stress of the wedding and picking up Grahams' shifts, she felt rubbed all kinds of wrong. Emma pulled her legs closer to herself until Regina stopped her. Regina opened her arms, inviting the scrappy blond into her embrace. She wanted no distance between them. Emma scooted to Reginas' cushion, turned around and leaned back into the embrace. Emma sighed, “I'm sorry. I sometimes forget we're from two different worlds.”

“Not so different. Like I was saying, a band was hired for her coming out party. I can hear you smirking. They showed up late, ate pounds of shrimp at the buffet, took too many breaks at the open bar and vomited on the Master of Ceremonies. I love you.” Regina stroked Emmas' hair and held her like a treasure. “You're not less than, you know that? Where and how you lived doesn't matter, because you're here now.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“But do you believe it?” Regina asked softly.

“Your childhood was stable, two parents and a room of your own. I lived out of suitcases and slept in strangers' spare bedrooms.” Regina wanted to give Emma every hug she missed as a child. “When I'm with you and the kid, I believe it. And when I've had enough sleep too.”

“Will Graham be back soon?”

Emma nodded. She placed her ear against Reginas' chest, listening to her loves' heart beat. “Turns out it was his gallbladder and they had to do an emergency surgery. He'll be back at work before Halloween.”

“Good. When that happens, I want you to take a weekend off and do nothing but sleep. You need it.”

“I do as my lady commands. I have been a bit bitchy lately. But I promise I'll get better.”

Emma leaned up and kissed Regina, forgiveness silently given. 

“So, a DJ it is.” Emma said. “Should Henry be in charge of the play list?”

“With the music kids listen to these days...” Regina began but was interrupted by a smiling blond.

“Listen at you, you sound like a crotchety old woman.”

“You'll find me at the open bar.”

 

^(^(^(^(^(^(^(^(^(^(^(^(^(^(^(^(^(^(^(^^(^(^(^(^(^(^(^(^(^(^

Ruby looked at the clock and wished the twitchy man would leave. It was close to closing. Just herself, Linguini stocking the kitchen and a thin man in a violently bright green suit. He swaggered in three hours ago, took ownership of a booth in the back and ordered coffee. When he first sat down his right leg bounced nervously, now after two pots of coffee it practically banged against the underside of the table. Ruby was reminded of a lizard, the way he would look out the windows facing the street and at the cafes' door. She wondered if he could move his eyes independently of each other. She approached his table and placed the bill face down in front of his cup, hoping he would take the hint.

“I don't want the fuckin' check.” He gestured to the cup on the table, “Fill it up.” He barked. “What's the fuckin' hurry, you're open all night.”

“Excuse me?” Ruby wondered if a cleaver could cut through his accent. 

“The noshery, it is open all fuckin' night?”

Ruby thought it sounded like English.

“This restaurant,” he raised his voice and spoke slowly, “It is open twenty-fuckin'-four hours?”

Ruby shook her head. 

“I was told it fuckin' was! Fuck!” The twitchy man jumped from his seat and found himself towered over by the waitress. He took a step back, dug a couple of bills from his pocket and threw them onto the table.

“Don't expect a tip!” he yelled at her as he left in a huff.

Danny Devine cursed aloud as he stomped to his VW minibus a block away. Fuckin' bitch said she'd be there with his money between nine and midnight. Don't worry, the fucker said, it's an all-night joint. For three weeks he had been chasing Gerri Dandridge around. She had taken out a loan for two grand eight weeks ago and the thirty percent interest was growing like mold. First she wanted to meet him on some side street behind a school; when she didn't show, she got a verbal beating. Then she proposed meeting at the restaurant called 'Grannys'; it was easy to find with plenty of visibility; he didn't like people sneaking up on him, or sneaking away. He climbed into his minibus slamming the door in frustration, but the latch didn't catch and the door hung open like a slacked jaw. 

Stupid, stupid, fucking stupid! Danny started to wonder if he truly enjoyed being a loan shark. The money part, yeah, he fucking loved that. There was nothing like a thick stack of bills to make a man feel like he was on top of the world. It was chasing the cash down that was the fucking headache. Apologies, stalls and outright lies was all he ever heard. He could hire some muscle to collect on the debt, but that would cut into his profit margin; however if he let someone walk away without paying what they owed (with interest), he would lose all credibility in the seedy, slimy underworld he called home. 

He looked up her number online, hoping to get a home address, but no such luck. Fucker must be using a burner phone. Danny pried his wallet open to pay for premium search results (he was going to tack that cost onto her debt as well) to find her general location. Danny decided that tomorrow morning he would go to the library and see if they had a copy of a local phone book. He'd have to, a loan shark couldn't go to the cops for help.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Albert Spencer spent a lazy Sunday morning fucking his wife, Jacqueline, after giving her a bauble of some kind...she said he always gave pretty presents after an argument. Then she and their son took a day trip to the city; she'll probably get dragged around the zoo, he thought without much interest. He spent the afternoon trolling the comments sections of feminist blogs, ordering delivery from the pickaninnys' restaurant for dinner and fell asleep watching his favorite Mel Gibson movie. 

Monday morning after arriving at his law office Albert Spencer pushed the intercom button on his desk. “Sally, get in here!” Moments later a woman in her late twenties entered; her hair was the color of strawberries and she had pale, puckered scars on her face that were peeking through heavy makeup. 

“Yes, Mister Spencer?” 

“Is Hans in yet?” He asked as if Sally were the associates' keeper.

“I haven't seen Hans.” 

Spencer glared at her, “It's Mister Maudsley to the likes of you. Let him know I want to speak with him, that is if he doesn't escape your attention.”

Sally nodded.

“And for Gods' sakes, cover those things up before you scare off clients!” Spencer pointed to the barely visible scars.

Sally closed the door behind her and reminded herself that good things come to those who wait. And she really needed this paycheck.

“Hey, pretty lady, what's up?” 

Sally turned around and saw a man in his mid thirties, with auburn hair and a buttery kind of charm. 

“Oh, Mister Spencer wants to see you Mister Maudsley.”

He tut-tutted disapproval at her. “Now, if we're going to work together, we have to be on more friendly terms. What's my name?”

Sally drew up a cup of courage, “Hans.”

“That's right. Hey, how about some coffee? I really need it this morning.” He said and knocked on the door.

It was so easy to do as Hans asked.

“Enter!” Spencer said. “Sit.” He pointed to a chair in front of his desk. “Hans, I want you to assist on the MacLeach case. He was charged with poaching elk and black bear, also trapping and the sale of threatened and endangered animals.”

“Maine has endangered animals?” Hans said, feigning concern. He had spent his life in a metropolitan area with a population of six figures. He nearly hit a deer on the way into work this morning and thought Maine could do with fewer animals. 

“Lynx and Golden eagle were found on his property.”

Those were in Maine? What the fuck is a Lynx? From context, he was sure it didn't have anything to do with golf. Hans wondered how much people would pay for them. City boy let out a low whistle. 

The office door opened and Sally entered holding a steaming cup of coffee. She sat it in front of Hans. Spencer picked it up, blew on it and glared at Sally, who pulled strands of her hair over a scar before leaving.

“Get the file from my new girl and send her in.” Meeting over. 

Sally entered a few minutes later, leaving the door ajar. “You needed something, Mister Spencer?”

A lecherous grin spread across his face until he looked at the door. “Close that.” He didn't invite her to sit. “Rumor has it that Boyd woman is trying to contact people in my firm.”

Sally stammered in a small voice, “I haven't talked to Ashley since she left.” 

Spencer didn't believe her. “In case it wasn't explicitly clear before, if that bitch approaches you or anyone else who works for me, I'm to be told immediately and I'll take care of it. And if anyone talks to her or anyone associated with her about her time with the firm, they can consider that their resignation. And then they'd better hire a lawyer. Do you understand Miss Burton?”

Sally nodded. She really needed this paycheck.

“Leave.”

A few hours later at lunchtime Albert was rooting around in the fridge in the staff break room and saw something promising: a spinach salad with chunks of seasoned, grilled chicken, walnuts and blueberries. The initials on the lunch bag were “A.T.” He strode triumphantly to the lunch owners' desk, popped a piece of chicken into his mouth and licked his fingers. 

“Anastasia,” He smirked, “It's a good thing you can cook.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

The woman waited until nightfall to deliver her “present.” She drove up Kipling—it paralleled Main Street—cut through the alley that connected the streets and parked on the small lot behind Golds' Pawn Shop and waited, making sure no one stumbled down the street from The Rabbit Hole or emerged from Granny's before leaving her car. The leggy redhead strode to the back door, leaned down and placed a legal envelope under the mat, leaving just the corner peeking out. Then she flashed an impish smile and did a little finger wave at the security camera over the door before turning and sashaying back to her car, her butt swinging like a pendulum. 

She was sure he would see it. Zelena would have preferred to give it to him in person. She wanted to see the look on his face when he opened the envelope and knew it was all for and because of him. Zelena thought about her beloved Andrew more and more each day. She wanted him to see the error of his ways, leave the egghead in her library and come back to her. Zelena would make him so deliriously happy that he wouldn't care if he left his son behind. Besides, wasn't the boy used to it? Didn't they say Neal Gold was forsaken by his own mother while he was in the hospital nursery? She disappeared into the night, taking her toothbrush but not her son. That's what she had heard. So it must be true. Zelena and Andrew would make babies of their own until there was one waving from every window of his pink Queen Anne home. 

Zelena looked into the rear-view mirror before pulling away from the shop. The light from a street lamp illuminated the back entrance, causing the white envelope to shine like a beacon.

This will make him come back to me, she thought as she drove away.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Emma knocked on the front door and waited. 'Nice lean-to.' she said to herself. The pink house looked like something out of Dickens and could house ten people comfortably. After a few minutes of no response, she knocked again, louder this time. It was Monday afternoon, the end of a long shift. Emma had been pulling doubles and was counting the days until Graham came back to work. The front door opened and Emma was looking down at a woman; she had long auburn sex hair and wore a bed sheet like a toga.

“Oh, afternoon officer. Is there a problem?”

“Do you live here?”

The woman nodded and introduced herself. 

“We were called because neighbors heard strange noises coming from your house.”

“Really? How odd!” 

“Yes, they reported hearing,” she pulled out a small notebook and read what David had relayed over the radio, “screaming, yelling and crying.” Emma glanced over the womans' exposed skin, looking for signs of bruising. “Are you alone?”

“No, my husband is home.” Belle said. 

“Are you alright?” Her tone promising if the woman was in danger, Emma would come in with guns a-blazin'.

Belle nodded. 

“I'd like to talk to the both of you.”

“He's a bit...tied up right now.”

“I was my love, but I'm free as a bird now.” A man sauntered down the stairs, fastening the sleeve buttons around his wrists and joined them at the front door. He wore a dark red dress shirt, charcoal slacks and an air of power. His hand snaked around the womans' shoulders. Emma noted he was barefoot. “I'm Andrew Gold. Why are we being visited by Storybrookes' finest?”

Emma took their full names for her report and explained the reason for her visit. He chuckled and drew his wife closer, causing his right cuff to inch up over his wrist. Emma noticed thin, red lines circling his wrist. 

'Okay,' Emma thought to herself. 'Whatever, I wanna go home. I need a nap.'

“It seems we've disturbed the neighbors' sensibilities. Our apologies, but when in the moment...” He smiled. Emma didn't know how a man could smile so wide and not hurt himself. She really needed a vacation.

“Please keep the noise down.”

Belle looked embarrassed, Gold looked proud as a peacock and Emma wanted to look away. “Okay.” Belle promised.

Emma took one last look at the house before driving away. “Yeah, I'll be going there a lot.”

Once inside the foyer with the door latched behind them Belle pointed to the floor and Andrew knelt obediently on the tile.

“How did you get out of those ropes so quickly?”

There was something peaceful about looking up at his goddess, his mistress, his wife. “You used the Highwaymans' Hitch and I have long, dexterous fingers. My lady, shall we return to the bedroom? Finish what we started?”

Belle motioned him to stand. “I hate to be a cock tease, but now we don't have time.” Andrew looked at the grandfather clock in the hallway. “Neal will be home soon.”

“Shit.” And the mood died on the spot. 

Belle felt the same way. “Tonight?” She said, hope shining like the sun on her blue eyes. Andrew dug his hands into her hair and drew her in for a deep kiss. 

“Tonight, tomorrow and always for your pleasure.” Andrew said as they walked hand in hand to their bedroom. He put away the various instruments of funstruction—canes, floggers, violet wand—while Belle dressed and brushed her hair. “Although for our lengthy sessions we should use the ball gag. Don't want another visit from Deputy Swan.”

“Is that who that was? I thought she looked familiar. You know, from the video you showed me.”

“I'm surprised you recognized her, as I recall you paid more attention to Madame Mayors' shoes than her speech.”

Belle gave him a look of mock hurt. “I liked them both, actually. Ms. Mills has a point. People think they can push without fear of reprisals. Speaking of which,” Belle pulled a certain envelope from a dresser drawer and dumped its contents onto the king sized bed. Andrew turned around and looked at the jade green lace panties now on the bed between himself and his wife. “What do you want to do about...that?” His wifes' beautiful face screwed up in a moue of disgust.

Andrew sighed, “I'll burn it if you like. Or keep it as evidence. Your choice.”

“How do you feel about it?” 

Gold rubbed his temples. “Like I should apologize. My beastly behavior landed me—us--in this trouble. I put my dick in crazy and now,” he waved at the underwear, “we're stuck with Zelena Forrest hanging on like a, a...”

Belle smiled, “Kingdom: Animalia. Class: Arachnida.” The area between Golds' brows crinkled in confusion. “A tick. Family: Nutjob.”

Gold chuckled, then his smile fell. “You're right. I'm sorry, truly I am.”

“Do you want me to beg forgiveness for my past?”

Gold stared at Belle. “You? You're perfect.”

“Hardly, but I mean it. I have my own skeletons.”

“Oh, him.” Gold rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Gaston Legume and my time on Dr. Hoppers' couch. Shall I hang my head in shame for being treated for depression after my fiance dumped me?”

“Of course not! You were having a terrible time and needed help.” 

“Rumor has it I've spent time in a psych ward.”

Gold shook his head in disbelief, “If anyone should rent a rubber room it should be Legume. I still can't believe he thought you were dull.” Gold rubbed his tender backside. “He didn't know you at all.” 

Belle smiled, “You're right. You, me,” Belle pointed to the scrap of fabric between them, “her. Everyone has a past, but it's our future that's important.”

“I love you, my Lady.” 

“And I love you, my sweet sub. But you never answered the question: what do you want to do about it?” Belle and Gold both looked at the offending undergarment.

“I have a file of her activities, including security footage, a 'Shit List' if you like. I'll add this to it. It's at the shop.”

“Do you think filing a charge of stalking would stop her?”

“Either that or a force of nature.”

Using a tissue, Belle put the fabric back into the envelope and sat on the bed, her back against the headboard. “Lay down, I want to see your bottom. We have a little time.”

Gold unzipped his pants, the grinding of metal zipper teeth loud in the quiet room. He laid flat on the bed, his buttocks covered in red, raised welts. Belle ran her fingertips across Golds' behind, gingerly touching his skin. 

“It's still warm.” she noted. “How does it feel?”

Gold sighed, “Sore. It's going to itch like mad tomorrow. Any bleeding?”

“Not this time.” Belle sighed happily, “You have a lovely bum. Sweet, round, and so pretty with criss crossed lines. I love to reach out and grab it.” 

Gold gasped as Belle grasped a handful of his ass and squeezed with all her might. She dug her fingernails into the welts, leaving crescent shaped marks on the lines. 

“Belle!” Gold screeched. “Oh, fucking hell!” 

“Shhh. Do we want Deputy Swan to show up again?” Belle giggled as she watched him writhe. “You need to be quiet.” Gold felt her wriggle and bounce on the bed, but couldn't see what Belle was doing as he was pointed away from her. Finally he got an answer as she shoved her lacy China Blue panties in his mouth. Gold was semi hard before, but now the smell and taste of her musk brought his cock to full attention. “Shut the fuck up,” Belle whispered, “you love this.” She released his butt cheek, white marks indicating where her grip had been. “Spread your legs.” Belle opened the side tables' drawer and took out a small bottle of lube and a butt plug capped with a blue jewel. Gold shivered when the KY touched his anus. “Since we were so rudely interrupted, you need to have a little something special.” She spread the lube around his opening with the plugs' tip until she saw Golds' muscles relax. He didn't stay relaxed for long, he grunted as Belle shoved the anal plug into him without ceremony. “Flip over.” she ordered and he happily obeyed. Belle didn't bother to remove her flouncy floral skirt or the sleeveless button down shirt she had on. She climbed aboard Golds' cock and rode him, swatting his hands away as he reached for her breasts. Belle sat up fully and unbuttoned her top, revealing a bra that matched the panties in his mouth. She unhooked the front clasp, slid her breasts free of the silky material, gasping as she rolled her dark pink nipples between her fingers. 

This was a game they played when Gold felt shaky, as if he didn't fully belong. He wanted to be owned by her, to have Belle not only on him, but in him as well. Her aroma permeating his nostrils, her juices flowing down his cock. She pulled the panties almost free of his mouth, leaving just the crotch area between his lips.

“Suck it clean.” 

Gold was dizzy with pleasure at her order. While he lapped at the material Belle reached between her legs and rubbed her clit furiously. It was primal, her desire to orgasm and his to watch. Finally she threw her head back and grabbed the footboard to steady herself. He felt her muscles quivering and clutching his cock. 

“Don't come until I tell you.” Belle said when her breath returned to normal. Then she dismounted Golds' still hard cock, reached between his cheeks and removed the plug from him and snatched the panties from his mouth. “Wear these tonight.”

“Yes, my love.” he gasped. After a few minutes rest, Gold stepped into the panties. He loved the way they cradled his cock and balls; he felt accepted within its embrace. Instead of putting his trousers back on, he opted for a more casual look: a white button down, long sleeved top and dark blue khakis. From one floor below the grandfather clock could be heard chiming four o'clock. He looked at Belle, his expression one of concern. “Did you hear the front door?”

“No. Let's check the kitchen, he's probably eating again. I think he's getting ready for a growth spurt.”

Gold tried not to worry. “You're most likely right.” 

The couple walked down the stairs together and entered the kitchen. They saw matching stainless steel appliances, custom made cabinets, and Neals' rear end sticking out of the fridge.

“Told you.” Belle whispered to Gold, who released the breath he was holding. “Hey, Neal. How was school?”

The preteen emerged from the refrigerator holding a plastic-wrapped plate piled high with leftover chicken tenders in one hand and a container of blueberry yogurt in the other.

“Fine.”

Gold and Belle looked at each other and took seats across from Neal at the kitchen island. It sounded like there was a lot of turmoil in his response. Gold broke the ice.

“I received an email from Mrs. Miner the other day.” he said.

“Is she the art teacher?” Belle asked. Gold nodded.

“She said there's a couple of competitions this year; one for yearbook cover and one for middle school students in Maine. She said that from what she's seen of your work so far this year, you should enter both.”

Belle grinned proudly and placed her hand on one of Neals' that wasn't busy shoving food into his mouth. “That's wonderful. I'm so proud for you!”

Neal grunted around a mouthful of chicken.

“Doesn't that make you happy, son?” Gold asked. He expected Neal to be bouncing off the walls.

“Yeah, I guess. Maybe I will. Maybe I won't. I dunno.” With that, Neal gathered up his food and backpack and trod up the stairs to his bedroom.

Gold and Belle stared at each other in silence until they heard Neals' bedroom door close.

“To quote your sister Lacey,” Gold said, “Fuck me proper?!”

Belle nodded in agreement.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

The food he carried up was sitting on the bedside table, now ignored. Neal sat on the floor of his room, looking at the posters of various types of art styles decorating his walls; broad strokes of bold paint, profiles in soft dots, images of blurred buildings. Ten weeks into the new school year his class did a chalk and glue mandala, when they were finished Mrs. Miner displayed them on the walls outside her classroom. This morning she arrived to find most of them damaged; crumpled, written on with marker or pen. Neals'--which had been near the header--had been ripped off the wall and torn in half.

Neal lived for art. He poured his heart into every project, no matter how small. It's one thing for an artist to blot out their work, but to see it maliciously destroyed...Neal felt like a hole had been drilled into his soul. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  
Astrid: * Forrest says there's no security footage. Can you believe that bullshit!? *

Leroy: *Unbelievable. What're you gonna do about it? *

Astrid: * Do you guys carry small cameras that don't really look like cameras? *

Leroy: * Yeah...are you thinking what I think you're thinking? If so, I approve. *

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Neal removed chalk-covered paper from his backpack. He mourned the loss of the original but upon looking at the design, decided it could be improved upon. He took supplies from his art desk—black construction paper, white glue and chalk—and started a new design, inspired by the posters around his room. He titled it “Phoenix” and went to bed. 

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

“Feeling better this morning?” Gold asked Neal. They were eating breakfast. Gold insisted on making scrambled eggs, bacon and toast. Neal usually ate Fruit Loops, so he welcomed the change. “You were in a mood last night.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.” 

“Yes, your art teacher sent texts to the parents. I'm so sorry Neal.”

The boy sat up a little straighter in his chair. “I'm not gonna let some dingleberry get me down.” He pulled 'Phoenix' from his backpack and handed it to his papa. “Whaddya think?”

“It's great.”

Neal put the picture in his backpack. “Not only that, but I'm entering both contests.” Gold didn't know what impressed him more, the new picture or his sons' resiliency. Neal looked at the time on the stove clock. “I gotta go or I'll miss the bus. See you tonight, Papa.”

“Finish your breakfast,” he motioned for Neal to remain seated. “I'll have Dove drive you.”

“Great, I'll really live up to my nickname.” Neal muttered.

“What are you called and by whom?” Gold demanded, throwing his napkin on the table.

Golds' first instinct was to strike out. Hurt me and mine, I'll hurt yours. It was a simple philosophy that served him well in the slums of Glasgow, living with his father; no running water, sometimes no food and a childhood of uncertainty. It took several years of living with his aunts before his edges were smoothed down. Now, his Maryhill days came flooding back to him. 

“Papa, calm down! It's nothing, really.” Neal said, trying to settle his fathers' nerves.

“Tell me.” Gold growled through his teeth. 

“Fine! One Percenter. Trust Fund Baby. Happy now?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Papa, you own most of Storybrooke. Half of the people in this town owe you money.”

“I'm not going to apologize for being a savvy businessman. If more people used their common sense in matters of money, they wouldn't have to come to me.” Gold sighed. “Names. I want the name of the people who gave you those names.”

Neal pointed to the clock. “Hey, I'm gonna be late. See you later Papa, I love you!” He grabbed his bag and dashed out the door, five minutes earlier than usual. 

“We're not done with this!” Gold called to the back of his sons' head.

“Not done with what?” Belle asked as she entered the kitchen. She was wearing a dark blue fuzzy bathrobe, her hair in hot rollers. Gold thought she looked adorable. Belle filled a kettle with water and placed a tea bag in a large mug. 

“I just found out my son is being called names at school!”

“Like what?” 

Gold told her. She chuckled. 

“This is funny?” 

“I laughed because it's creative. Is Neal worried or hurt about it?”

“He doesn't seem to be. But that could be an act. I wish I knew who started it.”

“I know,” Belle said, pouring the hot water into the cup, patiently waiting for it to steep. “You'd crush them like a snail.”

“Yes, I would.” He said, grinning and plotting.

“No, you won't.” Belle reprimanded him. “No snail stomping. I know that you look at what Neal goes through and think about your own childhood. But Storybrooke isn't Maryhill. 

Gold recalled fights with two against one, with him being the one. He sighed, “You're right, but there's a little bit of Maryhill everywhere.” 

Belle stirred sugar into the mug and took a sip. “Besides, it'll peter out and be long forgotten by the time he starts dating.”

Gold sighed, then looked surprised. “He's too young to date!”

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

October was half over. Halloween decorations were up, kids excitedly discussed what they were wearing for the holiday of free candy, and the bullies had been in fine form all month.

Oskar Westelton ruled the bus. He bulldozed his way up and down the aisle, pushing kids aside or out of their seats. If he sat near the front of the bus, he would stretch his long legs out for the kids to try to climb over or under. If they went over the top, they'd get thrown off. If they went under, he'd step on them. For the smaller students, finding a seat was like running a gauntlet. When he tried that trick with Roland, the boy grabbed the seats and leaped over Oskars' legs. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Felix Dandridge singled Henry out for every game of tag football, every spike in volleyball and targeted Henrys' ankles during floor hockey. But he hadn't tried anything as blatant as throwing another football at the younger boy again. Word had gotten around that Emma Swan had picked Henry up from school in a squad car and rumor had it that the former bounty hunter would go medieval in order to protect him. The idea added fuel to Felixs' fire to hate Henry Mills even more.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-00-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

After Mrs. Miner posted 'Phoenix' above the art room door, someone smeared White Out across it. Hoping the camera had some footage, Astrid checked the feed on her phone only to groan aloud. She had installed it facing the wall. 

[][][][][][][]][][][][][][][][][][][ 

Henry opened his locker door one day and a sheet of notebook paper floated onto the floor. He unfolded the paper and saw a drawing of two stick women in the sixty-nine position, the caption reading “Bitches Love Tacos.” He didn't bother taking administrations' lame advice of going to a teacher, that would be like throwing gas on a fire. He stuffed it into his backpack and hurried to his next class. 

[][][][][][][][][][][][][

After Spencer declared the 'no communication' rule, the office staff, who usually chatted with each other about family, weekend plans and office business, became as silent as a graveyard. The threat of being fired frightened workers into silence. Spencer liked it that way.

-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Marmaduke Westelton couldn't put off meeting with Nolan and his girlfriend any longer. He hoped Gerta was on the end of her bender so he could get back to the office. He worked from home as much as he could, which his bosses found acceptable, but they preferred his presence at the bank, and they knew how much of his flexible schedule was spent holding his wifes' hair back. Marmaduke was so busy running in circles taking care of his wife, covering for himself at the bank that he didn't know what his boys got up to anymore. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-==-=--==-=-=-

Malcolm Peters finally had the elevator fixed and with it, some of his self-respect. Now if only a team of repairmen could fix his home life. Gerri had raided the savings account again and spent the previous night at Agrabah Casino feeding money into slot machines and drinking Rum and Coke filled with too much ice and flat soda. She was still asleep when he left for work at eight-thirty this morning. He looked at the clock on his phone, it was nearly eleven. He decided to call her at lunchtime to see if she was alright, awake, or at home at all. He was starting to wonder why he bothered.

During lunch (brown bagged leftovers) Malcolm read the news feed on his phone. In the entertainment section there was a story about a bands' farewell tour. The name of the band sounded familiar and he wondered why until he remembered there was a poster of said band on his sons' bedroom wall. For giggles Malcolm looked up ticket prices and nearly choked on his meatloaf sandwich. A hundred and twenty dollars per seat! Later that night over dinner with Felix, (Gerri was gone again) he brought up the subject of the concert. 

“I think I'm mostly there.” Felix said between bites of green beans and chicken patties. “Last week I cleaned the dog poop out of Mrs. Schewes' back yard and she paid me ten bucks. And this weekend I'll scrounge up some business.”

“What did you have in mind?” Malcolm asked.

“Using the leaf blower on peoples' yards.”

Malcolm cocked his head to one side, “Felix, we don't have a leaf blower.”

“I know someone who does, I'll borrow theirs and pay for the gas.”

Malcolm sighed. He remembered when Felix was a scrawny little kid who sucked his thumb when Gerri went out of his sight. Not anymore.

“Sounds like you've got it figured out.”

Felix allowed himself to smile, just a little. It was during these conversations that Felix felt a little less angry. Like life was normal. Like it should be. The following week at school he didn't lean on Henry Mills as much.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==-==-=--==--==

On a sunny afternoon Emma and Regina walked into Persephones' Bridal and Formal Wear. The ladies entered a monochromatic atmosphere; everything was white. The chairs and couches, the curtains, lamps and shades. Even the hardwood floor was stripped of color.

“I'm afraid to touch anything.” Emma whispered.

“Hello!” a man emerged from behind a white curtain and approached Emma and Regina. He was dressed in a dark blue three-piece suit, a dress shirt a shade lighter than the suit and an indigo colored tie. His teeth and hair were as pale as the surroundings. He extended his hand in greeting. “Welcome, welcome. I'm Mr. Key, how can we be of service today?”

Regina started. “Wedding gowns. We're at the stage of planning where we can no longer avoid the inevitable. So,” she threw her arms wide, “bring on the gowns!”

Mr. Key clapped his hands and motioned for the ladies to follow him to a rack of dresses. “I think you'll find we have the largest selection of the most beautiful gowns in the Storybrooke area.” 

“What about prices?” Emma asked. “I see loads of lace and sequins, but no price tags on the dresses.”

Mr. Key smiled like a used car salesman, “I'm sure once you find a dress you love, price will be irrelevant. Tell me, which of you lovely ladies is the bride-to-be?”

“Both.” they replied at the same time. 

“A double wedding? How exciting!” 

“No,” Regina corrected and held Emmas' hand, “to each other.”

Mr. Keys' smile faded. He held up a finger. “Would you excuse me a moment?” He turned and disappeared behind the curtain. 

“To quote 'Star Wars'...” Emma began.

“I've got a bad feeling about this.” Regina finished. 

Voices could be heard coming from behind the curtain. Raised voices from a man—assumably Mr. Key—and a woman trying too hard to be quiet and failing. After a few awkward minutes Mr. Key returned, a little red along the jawline. A grim-looking woman emerged from behind the curtain and stared down her straight nose at Regina and Emma.

“Ladies,” Mr. Key hung his head low, like a dog that got caught with its owners' shoes, “I'm sorry but I, we,” he gestured to the woman behind the counter, “will not be doing business with you.”

It was an 'ice water' moment. Emma wanted to bust up the furniture. Put a little red on the all-white decorations. Regina took a different approach.

“Mr. Key,” Reginas' gaze narrowed, her voice just above a whisper, “You and your wife can run your business any way your conscience,” Regina said the word as if she doubted he had one, “sees fit,”

“You're making a stupid, back-assward decision, and it sucks!” Emma interjected loudly over Reginas' shoulder.

“I'd rather close my doors than sell a dress to the likes of you sick, depraved perverts!” Mrs. Key spat.

“Now, I'm going to respond in kind.” With that, Regina pulled her phone from her purse and walked out the door. By the time Emma caught up with her love, Regina was in the passenger seat of the Beetle, typing away on the screen.

“What are you doing?” Emma asked, looking over at Regina.

“I just wrote a review of the terrible treatment we received at Persephones'.”

“Bastards.” Emma wished she knew more creative adjectives. “They're on the wrong side of history.”

“You and I know that, but do they? Probably not. Small minds will remain small.”

“What did you do, post the review on Facebook?” Emma wondered and stole a glance at the phones' screen.

“No,” Regina shook her head, “That would open a defemation of character can of worms. A lot of 'he said, she said.' I filed a complaint with the ACLU.”

“What happened to letting them run their business as they see fit?” 

Regina placed her phone in her purse, “Changed my mind. Serving the public means serving all of the public...fuck 'em.” 

Emma sniggered and wondered if she should feel sorry for the Keys. “You don't mess around, do you?” 

The ladies took their time returning home. Henry was spending the day fishing with his Grandfather, so there was no rush. They stopped at Tias' Place for a late lunch. A large, pear shaped man waddled up to their table and placed two menus in front of them. His name tag read 'Louis'; with a wide, toothy grin he greeted the ladies with “What can I get you fine ladies this afternoon?” 

Regina glanced at the menu and put it down with a sigh. “I'm not really hungry. I'll just have coffee for now.” Louis looked at Emma, who had closed her menu.

“Gimmie a minute?” Emma asked and Louis waddled away.

Emma reached across the table and in front of God, Fred and the growing dinner crowd, gathered Reginas' hand in her own. “You were quiet most of the way back. Whatcha thinkin'?”

“Why do people have to be so nasty to each other? We didn't do anything to those people,” Reginas' thought dissipated as tears threatened to flow freely from her brown eyes. She dug a Kleenex from her purse and blew her nose. 

Louis returned a few minutes later and took their order; coffee for Regina, Emma opted for Gumbo with Andouille Sausage and cornbread. 

“Some people are assholes?”

Regina smiled in agreement. “I don't just mean us and what happened today. Although I'm still pissed at that.”

“Language!” Emma clutched at invisible pearls.

“I'm worried about Henry. He hasn't picked out a costume yet and Halloween is just around the corner. Do you think he's outgrown Halloween? I don't think I'm ready for that.” Regina pictured her little boy slipping away.

“Maybe, but I don't think so. He was looking forward to it earlier this month. I saw him looking at costumes online a week or so ago and he seemed excited. Maybe something happened?”

“An uninvite? God, I hope not, but it wouldn't surprise me.” Regina sipped her coffee as Louis arrived with Emmas' order. 

“Here ya go. Dig in, lemme know what you think, Naveen's doing the cooking tonight.” Louis held his breath as Emma took a bite of sausage. The Deputy did a thumbs up gesture and Louis' lips spread open in a wide, toothy grin.

“Where's Tia and why isn't she doing the cooking?” Regina asked. 

Louis jerked his head toward the kitchen. “She's in the kitchen supervising. Wants Naveen to expand his cooking skills. Enjoy!”

“Well,” Emma began and dipped cornbread into the gumbo. “Guess we'll have to order dresses online. Or we could scrap the whole shebang and get married at the courthouse.”

“No. Absolutely not.” Regina said, lowering her voice to a hiss, “If straight people get to announce their commitment with a huge ceremony, then we should too! No canceling and no ordering from Amazon.” 

Just then Louis placed their check face-down on the edge of the table, pulled his wide smile into a frown and walked away. He thought to himself of the charity he received from Tia and Naveen, they believed in his musical talent enough to let him play in the house band on the weekends. He thought it just wouldn't be human to not help out a fellow being, so with a slow swaying motion Louis approached the ladies at table nine.

“Excuse me,” He interrupted and stopped Regina from handing over the check and some cash, “It's not about the bill. I couldn't help but overhear your problems and,” he scribbled a name and phone number on a blank order sheet, “I think I know someone who could help you.” Then the large man shuffled away to the kitchen.

Regina and Emma thanked Louis as he retreated then looked at the paper. Louis had scrawled 'Ever After Bridal.'


	7. A Town Without Pity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ladies try to cheer up Henry. David and Mary Margaret try to get a home loan. The Westleton boys make dinner. Marmaduke transfers his frustrations. Belle chases a thief.

Storybrooke PTA: Chapter Seven

A Town Without Pity  
Written by Ned Washington, Dimitri Tiomkin

When you're young and so in love as we  
And bewildered by the world we see  
Why do people hurt us so  
Only those in love would know  
What a town without pity can do

If we stop to gaze upon a star  
People talk about how “bad” we are  
Ours is not an easy age  
We're like tigers in a cage  
What a town without pity can do

The young have problems  
Many problems  
We need an understanding heart  
Why don't they help us, try to help us  
Before this clay and granite planet falls apart

Take these eager lips and hold me fast  
I'm afraid this kind of joy can't last  
How can we keep love alive  
How can anything survive  
When these little minds tear you in two  
What a town without pity can do

How can we keep love alive  
How can anything survive  
When these little minds tear you in two  
What a town without pity can do

 

Emma was helping David unload the last of his boxes from the bed of his truck to the basement of the Swan-Mills' house. 

“Why aren't we using a furniture dolly?” Emma asked, she sounded like she had run a marathon. 

“Because it takes money to rent one and Mary Margaret and I need every dime we can get.”

“You want to work my Halloween weekend shifts in two weeks?” Emma said, hopeful. “It's my first official holiday as a stepmother and I want to be there for Henry, even if all he does is eat too much junk food and have indigestion.”

David paused to consider it. Money vs. sleep vs. money. Then he nodded.

“Grahams' doctor cleared him for work,” Emma reassured her boss.

“I know.” David said. 

“So he'll be back in two days.” Emma informed David. “Graham texted me about how bored he was binge-watching Netflix, he's looking forward to work again.” 

“Glad to hear it.” David said. “After I recover from exhaustion, I'll dance a jig.” Just then Regina pulled into the driveway beside the Beetle. 

“David, how are you?” She greeted him with a handshake and looked at the boxes piled in front of the three car garage. “What's all this?”

“I said they could store some stuff here...”

“Mary Margarets' apartment is small, like we don't have room to make memories. Emma said you were okay with it, but if not, I can take this back.” He looked at her like a sad puppy who didn't want to go out in the cold and wet.

Regina shook her head and waved off his fear. “Don't worry, I'm sure it'll be fine. Would you like to come in for coffee? Tea?” 

“Maybe something cold?” David asked and the three entered the house. Regina put her bag on the kitchen island and poured a glass of ice water for David.

“Are you meeting with the bank soon?” Emma asked.

He shook his head. “Westelton keeps putting us off. Maybe it's our credit scores. Mine fell a bit after the divorce and Mary Margaret is still paying off college loans. We work as much as we can; me working doubles...”

Emma interrupted, “He's taking my Halloween shift.” Regina smiled.

“And Mary Margaret tutoring. We're padding our accounts as much as possible. I don't understand why Westelton wants to delay.” David shrugged and gulped his water down. “If it's a 'no' I'd rather hear it sooner than later.”

Regina patted his hand. “Something will come up.”

David sighed and finished the last of his water. “Hope so.” He looked out the door at the boxes waiting next to his truck. “Ready for more exercise?” He asked Emma. She nodded and the two of them trudged up and down the stairs to the storage room in the basement until the job was done. David thanked the ladies once again and headed home. 

“Is Halloween really in two weeks?” Regina asked. “It doesn't feel like it.”

“Doesn't look like it, either.” Emma offered.

“What do you mean? I put out decorations.” Regina said, her hands on her hips.

“A couple of pumpkin pillows from Pier One doesn't count.”

“I thought they were cute.”

“Yeah, they're stylish and grown up, but where's the skeletons? The zombies?” Emma asked. “There's not even a decent headstone.” 

“I don't decorate like that. I think all that blood,” Regina said with a shiver, “is scary.”

“I forgot,” Emma chuckled softly, “You're easily spooked.”

“I don't even like the boat ride scene from 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.' The good one, not the remake.”

“So decorate the way you want to. It doesn't have to look like a Rick Baker nightmare or a scene from 'The Ring.'”

Regina sighed and looked around at the house, it was shiny, sanitary and devoid of color. Except for the pumpkin pillows and Emma. “I wonder what the cost of rush delivery is on Amazon.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-=

The hot topic around the cafeteria was the Tillmans' Halloween party. Henry had heard they hired a band and a caterer. They were going to turn their half-acre back yard into a zombie shooting gallery. That they were going to shoot off fireworks. That...

He wasn't invited. That's what Henry heard and the rest of the school had heard it too. That's why he felt eyes upon him in class and during lunch where he sat alone. 

He wished people would stop staring. He wished it was November already. He wished it would snow six inches the night of their party. 

What had he done to deserve being treated like this? So what if his moms were gay? They fussed if he didn't eat all his green vegetables, they worried about his algebra grade, they reminded him to wear a scarf when it was cold. All of that makes them moms too, doesn't it? 

The rejection of the Tillman twins hurt like getting hit in the chest by a football; a sharp pain in the center that radiated out to the surrounding muscles. He knew it would fade, but you can't look at a scar without thinking of the pain. Henry looked down at his lunch, a chicken burrito with grapes and milk, sighed and pushed it away. He wasn't in the mood to eat. His day started out sucky and became steadily worse. 

First report cards were sent out today. His algebra grade was hovering around a high D; Henry would have to endure more speeches of 'try harder' and 'apply yourself' by his moms (bad enough teachers said them too) when he got home.

At least the day was half over. Henry looked forward to locking himself in his room with YouTube videos and a well-worn copy of 'Eragon.' He picked up his lunch tray and dumped it in the nearest garbage can. When he returned to his seat there was a pile of lunch choice number two sitting there: tacos.

'This day,' He thought to himself, 'keeps getting better and better.'

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Grannys' diner was ready for the dinner crowd; silverware was wrapped, dishes were being washed and Charlotte was prepping the coffee pots behind the counter. The tinkling of a bell caught her attention. She called out, “Have a seat, I'll be with you in a 'sec!” 

KP Waters' creamy voice carried across the diner, “That's alright Charlotte, I'm in no hurry.”

Just then Ruby emerged from the kitchen, order pad and pencil in hand. “I got it, Granny.”

Charlotte waved her hands and blocked Ruby, “I'll handle this, you go. Do something.”

“Like what?” Ruby puzzled, “There's nobody else here and we're ready in the back.” The young woman peered over Grannys' shoulder at the handsome man at the counter. “Got a thing, huh?” She dodged and weaved around Granny and greeted the gentleman. “Hi Mr. Waters, I heard your show last night.”

“I hope you enjoyed our 'Oldies Evenings, Music to Park To.'”

“Yeah, had to Google that phrase, I thought it meant something else.” She turned to Granny, a wolfish grin growing on her face. “I bet you know what that means.” A vein in Charlottes' neck began to throb. Ruby turned back to KP, “But thanks to you, I'm interested in oldies music.”

“Are you a regular listener?” he asked.

“No, sorry.” Ruby threw an arm around Charlottes' sweater-clad shoulder. “But I know someone who does.”

“You ought to, I change the lineup every night. You never know what new interests you'll find.”

Ruby patted Charlotte on the shoulder, “Matter of fact, I bet you two have more than music in common.” Charlotte shrugged Rubys' arm off.

“Go make sure Linguini hasn't locked himself in the freezer again.” she hissed. 

As Ruby retreated to the kitchen she sang off key, “And they caaaalll it puuupppy loooovvvee!”

Charlotte locked her muscles in place to keep from throwing utensils at her granddaughter. Then she placed a coffee mug in front of KP, who was still smiling. “How about some Joe?” 

“Feel like I need an intravenous drip of the stuff.” He nodded. As his smile faded, Charlotte noticed his bloodshot eyes. 

“What's up? You look like your face is gonna slide off your head.” Charlotte poured the coffee, then returned the pot of strong brew back on the burner.

“I'm getting too old for this.”

“This, what?” Charlotte wondered.

“Burning the candle at both ends. I work the midnight shift, go home at six, sleep for two hours and I'm back at the station at nine-thirty to run the station until six or seven, go back home for a nap and come back and prep the show at ten.”

“I understand, KP. If I'm not running the restaurant and doing book keeping I'm at the B and B changing sheets and checking reservations. That's what it's like to run your own business.”

“At least you have a bed nearby.” He said, rubbing his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

KP glanced around the diner, it was just him, sympathetic Charlotte and Blue Fey at the end of the counter who was looking at her phone. “I had a scare last week. I've seen double when I'm driving.”

Charlotte shook her head, her eyes grew wide in surprise. “What?”

“Yesterday I got in the car to go home, but I don't remember the actual ride to my house.”

“Good God!” Charlotte exclaimed, “Do you have a couch at work? A cot, something to nap on?”

KP shook his head. “I have a rolling chair and a desk in my office. Before you ask, yes, I tried to sleep at my desk and it didn't work. My back muscles twisted into pretzel knots.”

A thought began to swirl around in Charlottes' mind like creamer in coffee. “KP, how far do you live from the station?”

“At the edge of town, before you reach...Charlotte I know where this is going.”

“Really, and where might that be?”

“You're telling me to stay at your B and B when I get tired. As much as I appreciate the offer, I'll be fine.”

Charlotte blew a raspberry at him, “Fine, my eyeball. KP, I want you to stay over.” 

KP choked on his coffee. Blue Fey nearly dropped her phone.

That's not what I said at all, Charlotte thought to herself and wished for death to take her.

“When you're that tired, you need rest, not to be out on the road. So, feel free to crash at my place. Instead of in traffic.”

KP wiped his chin with a napkin and placed his hand over Charlottes', which was resting on the counter. “What if your hotel is booked solid? I wouldn't want you to turn away business for me.”

“You can stay in my room.” 

Charlotte noticed Blue Fey had stopped scrolling on her phone and was giving them the fish-eye. 

“I mean, you can stay in my apartment behind the hotel and I'll take the couch in the office.” Charlotte said in a rush. She didn't say the two of them should share a bed, get tangled in the sheets and wonder who would be the big spoon. It might have been what she was thinking, but she didn't say it. 

KP drank the rest of his coffee, placed a couple of singles on the counter and stood up. “Charlotte,” he said, “You're a kind and generous woman. I've always thought so. And I'm glad to call you my friend. But, I'll be fine.”

“Ahh, moose cookies!” she harrumphed, “Your eyes look like Rand/MacNally road maps. You said yourself you're afraid of your driving. Ruby!” Charlotte called to her granddaughter in the kitchen, “Take the front, I'll be back in a minute.” She turned to KP and gestured with a head jerk that he should follow without complaint or question. 

KP followed Charlotte to the back office of her hotel. She unlocked the door and they entered a mud room where she dug in a closet and dragged out a large rubber-looking lump.

“What is this?” KP wondered and tapped the lump with his foot.

“It's an air mattress. The foot pump's inside.” She held up a hand to fight off his objections. “Everyone's a fool, KP, but an old fool refuses to learn. Take the damn thing so I won't worry about you being on the road.” 

KP considered this advice and concern for a moment. Worry? She worries about him? They had known each other for years, since his grandson Billy was in diapers and his daughter Ursula before that. Maybe he should start thinking of Charlotte as more than a friend? He picked up the mattress and the two of them hauled it out to his car, which was parked in front of the diner. 

“Thank you, Charlotte.” KP lifted her hand and placed a soft, gentle kiss on it, shocking both Charlotte, Blue Fey--who could see everything from her seat in the diner—and Ruby, who almost spilled coffee on the lap of Emma Swan, who had just come in for her break. As Charlotte regained the ability to breathe KP got into his car, and as he drove to work that night, he wondered what was hiding under the heavy sweaters Charlotte always wore.

Meanwhile, on the sidewalk outside the diner, Charlotte was staring at her hand and talking herself out of flights of fancy. Surely KP meant the kiss as a thank you. It couldn't have meant anything more than friendship. Although, his lips did linger a moment or two longer than a friend would allow. In that amount of time, did her heart stop beating? Or had it started up again, after lying dormant for too many years? She entered the diner, oblivious to stares and grumblings.

“Excuse me.” A womans' voice called from the end of the counter. It sounded miles away, an echo in a valley. “Excuse me!” She dropped a spoon onto the counter, it clattered and shook Charlotte awake. “Granny, I'd like some service!” 

Charlottes' eyes narrowed and she stared over her half-moon glasses at the woman. “What do you want Ms. Fey?”

“For you to give equal amounts of attention to your customers, not just the one that slobbers on you.” Blue Fey looked down her nose at Charlottes' hand and sneered, “I hope you plan on washing that.”

Charlotte protectively pulled her hand to her breast, “There's nothing wrong with my hands.”

“Nothing a bottle of Purel wouldn't cure.” Blue sniffed, “I'm surprised you let him touch you.” She spat out the pronoun like it had a bad taste.

“I don't like your tone.” Charlotte growled.

“And I don't approve of you propositioning a man for night time company when your customer is five feet away!” 

Charlotte knew this conversation would blow her blood pressure and cost her a customer, but caring was a line far behind her. “If you heard that part of the conversation, then you heard all of it.”

Blue Fey called to Emma, “Can you believe what's going on?”

Emma shrugged and stared evenly at the woman, “Consenting adults and all.” 

Blue Fey turned to Charlotte, her mouth opened and closed like a landed fish. “Honestly, a woman of your age acting like a hormone soaked teenybopper. You should be setting a better example for your granddaughter than behaving like one of her peers.” She gestured to Ruby, who was mopping up a spill on the counter.

“Your problem, Blue Fey,” Charlotte leaned in and pointed a finger at the woman, “is you're jealous of anyone that gets attention. You've been like this since you were knee-high; I remember you as a small green-eyed brat who would misbehave to tear Mommy and Daddys' eyes off your little sister.”

Blue Fey puffed indignantly at the rebuttal, then smoothed down her cardigan. “Of course, a woman of your advanced age is allowed one last fling in her winter years.”

Emma protested, “Stop talking about her like she's cottage cheese with an expiration date! Matter of fact, just stop talking.”

“Exactly! If all you're going to do is bitch and moan, then get out! I don't want your business!”

Blue Fey slapped her paper napkin onto the counter as hard as she could, “Fine! I'm leaving and I'll never set foot in your greasy establishment again!” 

“What the hell's keeping you?” Charlotte waved her arm, “There's the door!”

Blue Fey placed her trim handbag under her arm and left the diner, the jingling bell sounding like it was being rung by a Salvation Army volunteer on Speed. 

“Who says small town life is boring?” Emma said, hoping to break the tension.

“Thank you.” Charlotte said in a quiet voice, looking at her hand, still feeling KP's warm lips on her liver-spotted hand, “Old...yeah, I'm old,” Charlotte said more to herself than the small audience, “but there's still a fire in this furnace.” 

“Then I have a toast,” Emma said, raising her cup, “To Granny: Burn, baby, burn!” 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The good thing about being the owner of an independent radio station, is KP could pick his own line-up. No CEO puke was going to tell him what songs to play just because they were popular. Tonight, more than ever, KP was going to take advantage of being the proprietor. He made himself comfortable in front of the console and monitors, cleared his throat and spoke into the microphone.

“To those who tune in regularly and to those who are just passing through Storybrooke, good evening and welcome to Midnight Magic on MAGIC 98. I'm your host, KP Waters. For the next few hours I want us to share not only music, but a portion of ourselves, so for tonight I'm taking dedications. Send me an email at www.wmgc98.com, tell me who you want to dedicate a song to and why. The reasons can be sad, silly or romantic. It could be about someone you miss, a love grown cold or one...” KP remembered the air mattress waiting for him in his office, “newly discovered. And with that I'll get the ball rolling. Ladies and gentlemen, for your enjoyment, Mister Frank Sinatra: I Could Write A Book.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“It's here!” Regina squealed and pushed several boxes of varying sizes into the foyer. “Henry,” she called as he descended the steps from his room, “Come help me unload these. Get the scissors from the kitchen.”

“Boxes in the basement, now these.” Henry grumbled, “Are we moving in or out?”

“Young man, you have to get out of this sour mood. There's no shame in having a tutor.”

“But why Ms. Blanchard? I see her every day during school, now I have to meet with her every day, too?” He was perfecting the art of whining.

“It's three times per week. We hired her because she's good...”

“If she were that good, I wouldn't need her help. I'd just understand algebra.” Henry interrupted.

Regina turned and faced her son, her expression stern and unbending, “You were a pleasant child until the hormones showed up; I'd rather listen to a rusty hinge than any more whining about tutoring. Emma and I aren't demanding straight A's from you, but D's are unacceptable. You'll continue to see Ms. Blanchard, five days a week if necessary...”

Henrys' mouth hung open.

“In the meantime, help me open these Halloween decorations!” Regina cut the packing tape with scissors.

Henry wasn't the kind of kid who stomped off when mad. While he and Regina sat on the floor unpacking fake spiderwebs and battery operated candle sticks, Emma walked in.

“I got the pumpkins.” she said, giving Regina a kiss and ruffling Henrys' hair. “Enough to put around the base of the tree.”

“Did you remember to pick up mums from the gardening center?” Regina asked.

“Yes, an assortment of colors.” Emma assured her. “They're in the driveway.”

“I never went all out like this before, I'm excited!” Regina clapped her hands, then dropped them in her lap with a serious look on her face. “I hope we have enough extension cords.”

Henry gestured to the items now lying on the tiled floor. “Mom, what is all this?”

“Well, you're holding a light-up spooky tree. I thought we could replace the topiary trees and planters in the front with those.”

“I get that, but why? All these years I've practically begged you to at least put out a scarecrow and you wouldn't. Why now?”

Henry suspected the reason, but it hurt to think about it. Emma sat on Henrys' right, Regina on his left. 

“Henry, Halloween is in two weeks and you haven't picked a costume for the twins' party. You haven't mentioned the event once. That means one of three things, a)” Regina ticked off reasons on her fingers, “they're not having it, b) you've spontaneously outgrown the holiday, or c) they're not inviting you.” 

Emma sighed, “It's the last one, isn't it?”

“Yeah.” he admitted softly.

“Let me guess,” Emma said, her sarcasm badly concealed under a thin veneer of calm, “It's because we're gay.”

Henry nodded. He didn't want to tell his Moms what the Tillman boy said. He didn't even want the phrase inside his own head. 

“Well, if that's the way they feel, I say 'good riddance and don't let the door hit you on the way out!'” Regina stroked Henrys' cheek and wanted a fairer world for him, but all she could give was advice, “I'm serious, if that's how they feel, you're better off without them.”

“And they're assholes.” Emma chimed in. Henry snorted through his nose.

Reginas' mouth hung open, “Language in front of the B-O-Y!” 

“I'm failing algebra, not spelling!” Once Henry stopped laughing he pointed at the decorations, “So this is to kinda make up for that?”

“Sort of.” Regina said, “And for myself...we put out a jack-o-lantern and that's it. Maybe I'm catching up on my own childhood. I love you, Henry.”

“I love you too, Mom.” 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

By the time the Swan-Mills family were done decorating, the front of the house looked like a Pintrest post. Black battery operated trees adorned with orange lights replaced the potted topiary trees on the front porch, spooky, fake cobwebs were artfully arranged on the long hedges leading from the porch to the street. The second story windows were lit up with orange candles in silver candelabras. White gourds and orange pumpkins surrounded the rust and orange colored mums that resided in the stone planters. The chandeliers hanging in the grand entrance and kitchen were covered with black gauze. Candle holders shaped like intricate spiderwebs adorned end tables. Strands of garland in black leaves and orange lights covered the banister leading to the second floor. And there was candy, candy everywhere! Regina had managed to borrow every candy dish Cora owned and picked up a few extra herself. Candy pumpkins, candy corn, Halloween foiled chocolate balls, caramel apple pops and even Gummy body parts candy (Emmas' suggestion and Regina refused to look at,) pumpkin spice hard candy sticks, white chocolate Reeses' peanut butter ghosts, gummy Life Savers (can't go wrong with the classics), gummy pumpkins and king sized Hershey and Twix bars. Henry was in sugar heaven. 

When night fell Regina, Henry and Emma stood in the yard and looked at their hard work. Regina held the master control for the lights and when the sky went dark, she flipped the switch and lit up the yard.  
Commuters slowed down to gaze at the most elegant holiday-themed yard on the block. Sidney Glass was in the neighborhood taking pictures of decorations for The Mirror; when he saw the Swan-Mills house, he screeched to a stop and asked for a photo. The ladies agreed to interior and exterior pictures and the following morning they found their home featured prominently on the Community page.

“Cool.” Henry said as they dined that night on delivered pizza. 

“Very cool indeed.” Regina agreed. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

The buzz around the lunch room for the next few days was the transformation of Henry Mills' front yard. People looked at him. People stared and pointed. That was okay by him. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Belle would look at her watch, pull a book from the return bin, then repeat. Andrew was meeting her for lunch and she was hoping for a quiet quickie in her office before he went back to his shop. She was lost in thoughts of favorite positions when someone cleared their throat at her; it wasn't a polite 'ahem,' it was more a of a 'fuckin' pay attention ahem.' She turned around and saw a spindly-looking man with brown hair wearing a magenta colored suit; his polo shirt was a shade of Dijon. He was leaning on the circulation desk, his attitude prickly and his temperament short.

“Bird, hey you, bird,” the man said, practically laying across the desk, “Phone book. You got a fuckin' phone book around here?”

“I beg your pardon? What did you say?” Belle said, giving the man an arctic glare.

“I'm sorry your majesty,” Danny placed a hand on his chest in mock apology, “I meant to say 'Where the hard, deep fuck is your fuckin' phone fuckin' book around fuckin' here?” 

“This is a library, not a bar. There are children in this building, you will speak with respect or you will leave.” It wasn't an option.

“Fuckin' listen here,” Danny hoisted himself up onto the desk and loomed over the top of Belle by a couple of inches. If she hadn't been glaring at him with those bright, blue eyes of hers, he would've thought she was pretty. “I got friends in low places...” he began.

“Since making your acquaintance,” Belle cut him off, “so do I. Kindly remove yourself, you're not a stack of magazines.” It was a good thing the desk stood between herself and the strange, rude man, she didn't want him to see how badly her knees were shaking. To be a Mistress and boss her husband around was a consensual relationship and she knew how far to push Andrew. Going 'full Goddess' on a strange person might push buttons they didn't know they had and cause them to have an adverse reaction. “And let's begin again. Welcome to Storybrooke Library, I'm Belle French, head librarian. How may I be of assistance?”

Danny slid off the counter and smoothed down his suit. There was something about this little woman with her formal ways that made him want to stand straighter and use vocabulary suitable for Sunday School. 

“Phone book?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper. 

Belle smiled, and walked around the counter. “Those are kept in the Reference section. Please,” she gestured, “follow me. Our collection goes back to the 1890's when the entire town could be listed on thirteen pages. Are you looking for yellow or white pages?”

Danny was silent as a church on Monday morning.

Belle translated, “Business or residential?” 

“The second one. And I need the most fu...” Danny stammered to a stop and censored himself, “recent. The most recent one you got.”

“In that case,” Belle ran her fingers across the spines of books until she found one with this years' date. “You'll need this one.”

“Great, I'll take it.” Danny was about to run off when Belle stood in front of him. “What?”

“Research materials are not available for check out. They stay in the building.”

Danny stomped, turned around and ran his hands through his hair, trying to find a way out of this. “I'll bring it right back.” He promised. “Not even a scratch. I won't even eat with it in the room!”

Belle shook her head slowly. “You're welcome to make copies of pages.” Her word was final. 

“Fine.” Danny followed Belle back to the front of the library and the Xerox machine. 

“What exactly are you looking for in Storybrooke?” Belle asked, turning on the machine.

“Ma money. Somebody owes me and I get what's mine.”

Belle turned to Danny, holding out her hand. He stared at the pretty palm. “It's thirty cents per copy.” she said.

Danny silently swore hyphenated expletives while digging through his pants pockets. He pulled out a wrinkled bill. Belle smiled patiently, like she would with someone who wanted to pay a late fee in pennies. 

“Thank you.” Belle took the bill, placed the phone book on a desk near the machine and went to the circulation desk, where she broke the bill for change. When her back was turned, Danny took his chance; he grabbed the book and bolted to the exit as fast as his skinny legs could carry him, with Belle in hot pursuit. Danny pulled over a DVD tower, hoping a tile floor littered with jewel cases of Two Day Rentals would cause the beauty to stop, but he didn't know Belle at all. As Danny flew through the exit he glanced over his shoulder long enough to see a brunette hurdling her way (in heels, yet!) over the metal case. Not minding where he was going, Danny crashed into a well tailored suit, sending its wearer to the ground.

“Are you okay?” Belle asked her husband without stopping.

“Yes. Belle!” Andrew stood upright and watched in wonder as his wife ran down the street. Dove, the driver, offered to dust off his employers' jacket, but Gold waved him off.

“She certainly loves her books, sir.” 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Danny lost the librarian about two blocks back, but he continued running until he reached his minibus, which was parked in an alley by some trash bins. 

'Fuckin' bint was like a horror movie villain,' he thought as he collapsed into the drivers' seat. 'No matter how fast I ran, she just kept coming. Wonder what made her stop?'

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Okay, I'm going to repeat your description so I've got it right.” Emma said and Belle nodded as her husband put an ice pack on her ankle. “About as tall as your husband, five foot seven. The man had brown hair almost to his collar; kind of like your husband does.” Belle nodded. “He spoke with an accent similar to your husbands'.” Belle nodded again. Anything else?”

“He had a lush bum.”

“I'm not putting that on the BOLO. What was he wearing?”

“A garish suit.” Belle described the colors and Emma cringed. 

“What did he take?” 

Belle described the book and Emma flipped her notebook closed. “I'm not putting in a report over a stolen phone book.”

“Not only that, but did you see what he did to the movie case?”

“I saw, take an inventory, if anything's damaged let me know.”

Belle held up her shoe; it had a broken heel. 

“At most, it's a misdemeanor.”

Belle huffed as Andrew Gold saw Emma to the door.

“Thank you, Deputy Swan.”

“I'm sorry I couldn't do more. Is she gonna see a doctor for the ankle?” 

“I've made an appointment for this afternoon. In the meantime,” he flipped the Open sign to Closed. “the library is closed until my wife is back on her feet. Belle will have to wear flats for a while.” Andrew shook his head. “She'll hate it.”

“Doesn't want to give up fashion?” Emma wondered.

“No. She hates being short.” 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-

David read over Emmas' shoulder as she wrote out a report.

“The way she described it, you would've thought he made off with a rare book collection and all of the computers.” Emma rubbed her eyes, staring at the screen was making her tired. “After I left the library I took the route she described and didn't see anyone that looked like him.”

“I'll keep an eye out for obnoxious Scottish men who wear ugly clothes.” David said and pulled out his phone. “Speaking of seeing things, take a look at this.”

On the screen was a two and a half story house with a blue roof, a screened in front porch and two car garage. David smiled. “I know they say you should find out how much house you can afford first, but Mary Margaret saw this one and fell in love.”

“What's the inside look like?” Emma asked and whistled when David gave her a video tour. “Sounds great, I hope you get it.”

“If we don't, there's always the one I picked out.”

“I'm guessing it has a man cave?”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“You're not going out again.” Malcolm stated, but Gerri interpreted it as a question. 

“Yes, I am. There's a new band at Agrabah Casino I want to see.”

“I read about them, they're a tribute band. You can hear the real thing on the radio for free.”

“Maybe I will, on the way to the casino.” Gerri said and stuffed her wallet with an assortment of one and five dollar bills. 

“Are you at least going to say goodnight to Felix?” Malcolm asked as Gerri flew out the front door.

“Don't wait up!” she called.

“I haven't for years.” Malcolm muttered to himself.

Felix had been in his room doing algebra homework (easy peasy, done in no time) when he had a craving for a soda. He was on the way down the stairs to the living room when he heard Mom and Step-Dad at it again. 

'Must be about money. That's all they ever fight about.' he thought to himself as he quietly slipped into the kitchen, but Felix knew that was only part of the problem. He'd been seeing his Mom less and less over the past few months. She was asleep or gone when he left for school, she didn't ask about his grades, or say Mom-like things like 'You're not going out in that, are you?', but Malcolm did. 'At least I have a mom and dad,' Felix thought as he leaned against primrose wallpaper. 'not like that Mills kid.' Felix opened a can of soda and took a sip. He was looking forward to the concert in a few weeks; he had most of the cost of a nosebleed section ticket saved up in an old pickle jar in his closet. A few more odd jobs and he could escape his bickering parents for a night.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Marmaduke Westelton threw away what was supposed to be their dinner. His head had been so full of swarming thoughts: work, his wife, his boys, that he forgot to take the plastic cover off the frozen lasagne before putting it into the oven. 

“I'm sorry, boys.” he apologized to his sons, who were setting the table. 

“Shit, Dad, what're we gonna eat now?” Oskar, the older of the sons, whined and Marmaduke shrank at the criticism. Oliver smacked his tall, broad brother on the shoulder.

“Eggs!” Oliver announced. “Sit down Dad, I'll make us an omelet.” He gestured at Oskar to follow him into the kitchen. Oliver removed from the fridge one each red and yellow pepper, a jar of minced garlic, a dozen eggs, milk, butter, diced ham and shredded Cheddar Cheese. “Osk,” he gestured to the cabinet by the sink, “get out the frying pan, then crack eggs while I clean and chop these peppers.”

“Okay.” 

“Hey, Dad,” Oliver said, “We'll call you when dinner's ready.” When Marmaduke was in the living room, Oliver turned to his brother, “Get off his back, he's trying.”

“Jeez, I didn't mean anything by it. How hard can it be to take off a plastic sheet?”

“You live in this house, Oskar, but I swear you don't pay attention. Mom's been sick and Dad's taking care of her.”

“Sick, my ass. She's been drunk!” Oskar hissed at his younger brother, “Why doesn't he do anything about it?”

Oliver cut the white membrane from inside the peppers and pushed them into the garbage disposal. “I don't know.” He said quietly, “But making Dad feel like a fuck up isn't helping.”

“I don't make him feel anything, he knows he's a fuck up.”

From the living room, regret ran down Marmadukes' face.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-===-=

Mary Margaret and David were dressed in their Sunday Best outfits; she in a black, knee length skirt, white blouse with pearl buttons and Peter Pan collar, a jade green cardigan and sensible Mary Janes. David wore a dark blue, single breasted suit with a crisp white shirt and a burgundy tie. 

They had all their necessary paperwork organized in a file, which was sitting on Mary Margarets' lap. They hadn't jeopardized the loan by opening new credit cards, as a matter of fact, the couple had managed to pay down both of their cards in the past few months. Mary Margaret had been sending every penny she earned as a tutor to the bank for her student loan and David was working as many doubles as he could physically handle. They were as ready as they could be, they thought.

“Ms. Blanchard, Mr. Nolan?” a stout secretary in her late forties greeted them in the lobby of Storybrooke Community Bank.

“Yes, here!” Mary Margaret said and the couple was escorted into an office.

“Mr. Westelton will be with you shortly.” she said and left them alone.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Marmaduke Westelton could feel his ire rising, but he couldn't take it out on Gerta. It wouldn't work anyway, yelling at her would be like raising your voice to a stone fence. Nor could he take it out on Oskar for stating the truth, although he wanted to. He hoped the boy would be in his situation someday, love someone with a serious problem and be helpless to do anything about it. Marmaduke felt like his life was a car on an icy road, spinning out of control. He wanted to steer it into the turn and regain control. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

David scooted his chair closer to Mary Margarets' and held her hand. 

“It'll be okay, just be calm.” 

Mary Margaret looked like a trapped rabbit, “I'm calm. I'm perfectly calm. Don't I look calm?”

“Any jumpier and I'll have to pry you off the ceiling.”

One minute stretched into five, then six, and seven. Mary Margaret was looking at her wrist watch every few seconds. Finally a harried looking little man slouched into the office. The young couple stood and David extended his hand in greeting. Westelton gave a limp shake.

“I'll make this brief,” Marmaduke began, “after looking over your application, it has been decided that the bank cannot extend either one of you a loan.”

They weren't ready for this. 

“Your credit scores—580 and 620 aren't as high as they should be to considered a good risk.”

“What about our down payment?” David asked.

“Two thousand dollars in your combined accounts isn't enough. That's barely two percent on a hundred thousand dollar house.” 

“Even with all the extra hours I've worked?” David remembered all the double shifts, the times he dozed at his desk and sex he'd sacrificed.

“The bank prefers a five percent down payment, minimum. Not only that, but your income to debt ratio...” he droned on.

“The house doesn't have to cost a hundred grand, Mr. Westelton,” Mary Margaret interrupted. “What about one for eighty thousand? Wouldn't our down payment be enough then?”

Marmaduke Westelton was starting to feel stronger, more powerful, taller. He wielded information over them like a sword on a hair string. “Ms. Blanchard, you're a teacher. Does two thousand dollars make a five percent down payment?” A sneaky grin slithered across his face as she shook her head.

“And then there's the matter of your employment history.” Marmaduke said, tenting his hands in front of him on the desk.

“I've worked for the Sheriffs' Department for six years.” David stated. 

“Not yours, Mr. Nolan.” Marmaduke pointed at Mary Margaret and watched her wriggle in her seat, as if she were sitting on tacks. Oh, yes, someone else would feel his pain. “I mean yours, Ms. Blanchard. You've been working for the Storybrooke School District for a little over a year. You haven't held your job long enough to prove that you're responsible enough to pay back the loan.”

“Twelve, sometimes sixteen hour days isn't enough time?” Mary Margaret said in a breathy whisper, “And that doesn't include tutoring!”

“If you had more money, less debt and a longer job history, perhaps you'd get a loan.” Marmaduke looked over the tops of his fingers, “But not today. You can see yourselves out.” And with that the little man turned his swivel chair around and faced away from the couple, who looked as if they were going to their own funeral.

David stood first and held his hand out. “Come on, Mary Margaret.” She sat staring at the back of Marmadukes' comb-over for a moment, then took Davids' hand. They were exiting the office when Marmaduke threw a 'doorknob question' at them.

“Why didn't you sell, Mr. Nolan?”

David stopped and turned around. “Sell what?”

“The house you lived in when you were married. Why didn't you sell and split the proceeds after the divorce?” He still hadn't turned to face them.

“I didn't want the money.” David gestured at Mary Margaret, “I just wanted her.”

“Well,” Marmaduke jabbed one last time, “Lesson learned for next time.”

Mary Margaret practically dragged David out the bank to his truck on the parking lot. David kicked the drivers' side door with enough force to leave a dent.

“That son of a bitch! I swear, I will pull him over every chance I get, just to...” he began on a revenge-laden rant.

“No. No, David.” Mary Margaret wrapped her arms around his neck, “No. They're not the only bank on the map and buying isn't the only way to get a house.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

'Let the bosses complain,' Marmaduke thought to himself, looking over a pile of loan applications that were destined for approval. 'It felt good.'  
f  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


	8. A Day In The Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Livin' the life, with all its ups and downs.  
> Please feel free to leave comments or constructive criticism; they help me grow as a writer.
> 
> Tag for dub con.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This weeks' special guest stars: Jefferson and Eudora!

Storybrooke PTA: Chapter Eight

 

A Day In The Life

I read the news today, oh boy  
About a lucky man who made the grade  
And though the news was rather sad  
Well I just had to laugh  
I saw the photograph  
He blew his mind out in a car  
He didn't notice that the lights had changed  
A crowd of people stood and stared  
They'd seen his face before  
But nobody was really sure if he was  
From the House of Lords  
I saw a film today, oh, boy  
The English Army had just won the war  
A crowd of people turned away  
But I just had to look  
Having read the book  
I'd love to turn you on

Woke up, fell out of bed  
Dragged a comb across my head  
Found my way downstairs and drank a cup  
And looking up I noticed I was late  
Found my coat and grabbed my hat  
Made the bus in seconds flat  
Found my way upstairs and had a smoke  
Somebody spoke and I went into a dream

I read the news today, oh boy  
Four thousand holes in Blackburn, Lancashire  
And though the holes were rather small  
They had to count them all  
Now they know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall  
I'd love to turn you on

(song written by John Lennon and Paul McCartney)

 

Halloween happened without incident (Emma kept an eagle eye out for vandals and people who might throw toilet paper) and left with indigestion (Henry gorged himself on gummy body parts and spent the better part of the night belching himself better.) The first weekend after Halloween Regina and Emma spent the day boxing decorations. When they were done the ladies voted on vegetating in front of the television for the afternoon. 

“We—Henry and I—usually go to my parents' for Thanksgiving, but I think we should have it here this year.” Regina declared, lacing her fingers through Emmas' hair. The ladies were lounging on the couch munching on leftover Halloween candy and watching a forgettable movie on Netflix starring a young woman with blond hair and blond teeth. “What do you think?” 

“I don't care. I'll do whatever, as long as I'm with you and the kid.” Just then Henry announced his entrance into the living room with a loud, wet burp. “Speak of the devil...how're you doin' this morning?” 

Henry gingerly eased himself into a reclining chair. “Can I stay home tomorrow? I don't feel good.”

“Are you puking?” Emma asked. 

“Vomiting.” Regina corrected.

“No. But my stomach feels like it's tied in a knot.” Henry complained. 

“Mine would too,” Regina pointed out, “if I had eaten nearly two pounds of candy in one night.”

Emma shook her head, “Three.”

Regina looked at Emma in disbelief. “Three?” she echoed, “How is it three?”

“He's a teenager who believes his stomach is made of steel. I was taking out the garbage this morning and found loose wrappers in the garbage can.”

Henry looked green around the gills. “Sorry.”

“Not yet young man,” Regina stated, “but you will be.”

“Am I grounded?”

Regina shook her head in disbelief of Henrys' gastric prowess. “No. You're punishing yourself right now.”

“Seriously,” Henry said, rubbing his stomach, “I feel awful.”

“No more junk food for a couple of days,” Regina said, wagging a finger at her son, “and eat a lot of apples.” Regina turned to Emma, who was choosing a different movie, “Back to the subject of food, I think that Thanksgiving should be here this year.”

“Do Grandma and Grandpa know we're not coming over?” Henry asked.

Emma answered, “Nothings' been written in stone, kid. Why don't I see what the work schedule is like first?” She picked up her phone from its resting place on the coffee table and scrolled through her calendar. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

“Neal?” Belle called up the stairs. “Neal, are you up there?” She had gone out to check the mail and returned with several white envelopes, some colorful advertisements and a small oblong package. It was addressed to him.

“What has he done now?” Gold remarked as he entered the kitchen from the back door. “Is he painting in the hallway again? I told him he could paint as much as he wanted in his room, but it stops there.” He looked at the package wrapped in brown paper with suspicion. “What is that?” 

Belle sat the other mail on the kitchen island. “I don't know, but it's addressed to...hey!” Before she could finish, Gold grabbed the package from her hand and turned it over in his own, looking for anything nefarious, dangerous or rash-inducing. 

“Can't be too careful.” Gold dropped his volume to a conspiratorial whisper, “It might be from her.”

Belle responded in kind, “It is, but not the one you're thinking of.” She smiled, “It's from my sister.”

Gold read the return address, “Richmond? Why is Lacey in Virginia?”

The pounding of feet coming down the stairs interrupted Belles' answer. “You bellowed, Belle? Sorry I didn't hear you, I had my ear buds on. What's that, Papa?” Neal gestured to the package.

“That's what we're itching to know, but it's not ours to open.” Gold handed it to Neal, “It's yours.”

Neal tore open the package, revealing a small book with a light brown cover. He flipped through the pages, which were empty. “Cool!”

Gold looked over his sons' shoulder at the gift. “She sent you a blank book?”

“It's not to read, Papa. It's to fill. Aunt Lacey sent me a sketchbook!” Neals' mind was racing with ideas of what to put in it. 

“That's kind of her, but it doesn't answer my question: what is Lacey doing in Virginia?” Gold asked.

Belle smiled and looked at the present. “She's driving to Tampa for a pool tournament. Ought to be there by now.”

“Again, so cool!” Neal said.

“Oh! You'll like this,” Belle said, digging her phone from her pocket, “Look at what she posted on Facebook.” Gold and Neal leaned in close to Belle while she started a video.

“I dunno Keith,” Belles' doppelganger was in a lobby, looking at drawings hanging from a wall. There were pictures of wolves, dragons, classic muscle cars. She'd study one then look at the camera and shake her head. A mans' voice could be heard asking questions: what about this one? What about that one? “It has to mean something.” An inaudible complaint came from behind the camera. “To me. It has to mean a lot to me.” Then Lacey looked directly at the camera. “I love pool. If only someone would design a pool players' tattoo. Hint. Hint.”

“I think that was directed at you, Neal.” Gold said, patting his son on the shoulder. “Better get busy sketching ideas.”

“You need to send a Thank You text.” Gold reminded Neal, who shrugged and rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, Papa I know.”

“Then do it now.” Gold nagged.

“Okay.” Neal whined, hating to be reminded to do something he was going to do anyway. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-

 

November seventeenth was just shy of two weeks away. A few more days to cross off the calendar and Felix could enjoy his favorite band in the company of a thousand other screaming fans. He went to his closet, knelt down and reached in to find the glass jar that held ransom money to get away from his parents and—now that first quarter report cards had been released—school. Felix dug tonights' pay from his pocket and it fell into the jar with clinks and a whoosh. He stood up, went into the kitchen and washed his hands, then opened the fridge door. 

“You're getting home late.” Malcolm said, concern in his voice. “It's getting darker earlier.”

“That'll happen when you live near the North Pole.” Felix said, piling a plate with leftover sausage pizza. He closed the refrigerator door and went to the pantry above the stove; Felix rifled through the cabinet and plopped single serve containers of fruit onto the pizza. Then he went back to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of chocolate milk. 

“Is this a snack?” Malcolm asked, wondering where the boy would put it all. 

“This is the first course.” Felix said, stuffing cold pizza into his mouth. “Do we have anything else?”

“Check the freezer.” Malcolm said and Felix gasped upon opening the freezer door.

“You didn't tell me we had Tilapia.” He turned the box of frozen fish over. “How do you preheat an oven?”

“It's easy.” Malcolm walked Felix closer to self-sufficiency. “School let out over an hour ago. Where were you?”

“Picked up some last minute side jobs. Are both of these lights supposed to be on?” Felix asked, pointing to the preheat button on the stove.

“Yes. When it beeps, that's when it's ready for the food to go in. What kind of jobs?”

“There's this retirement home a few blocks from the school. Did chores for some old people and they paid me.”

“Like what? Get out a shallow pan for the fish.”

“Taking garbage to the curb, sweeping off the sidewalk. That sort of thing. Is this okay?” Felix held up a pan an inch deep. Malcolm nodded. 

“You're an enterprising young man.” 

“Gotta make money.”

“True. But I'd rather you spend more time improving your Language Arts skills. 

Felix groaned and threw his head back. “Who cares where commas go? There are computer programs for that sort of stuff. And cinnamons?”

“What?”

“Cinnamons. Ms. Blanchard says my cinnamon use needs to improve.”

Malcolm couldn't help it, he started to laugh. Felix wasn't amused. “I'm sorry.” Malcolm apologized. “I have a vision of you sprinkling spice onto a test. She means synonym.”

“Whatever.” 

“So, how much did you make tonight? If you don't mind my asking.”

“Five dollars, most of it change.” 

“Both subjects are important.” Malcolm pointed out. “It shows responsibility and maturity on your part to work toward something you want. You should be proud of yourself. I know I am.”

Felix almost let slip that he wished he knew how his Mom felt, but stopped the words with a spoonful of pineapple. 

“I so,” Felix dragged out 'so' to six syllables, “want to see Black Hook. I'm this close to a ticket.”

“Schooling is more important.” Malcolm said over Felixs' groan. “But you'll get there.” The preheat light went off and the oven beeped. “You can put the fish in now.”

“Thanks.” Felix quietly said.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--

'What the fuck's up with all the turkeys?' Danny Devine grumbled to himself as he drove away from another dead end. Fuckin' birds were everywhere; cardboard cut outs on doors, paper mache ones hanging from ceiling tiles, hand print turkeys taped in the school windows. The last Dandridge home he cased had a fuckin' turkey hanging from every window and a wreath made of fuckin' feathers on the front door. It looked less like a house and more like a church that worships birds. 'Our Suffering Lady of Turkey Cock.' Danny snorted at the unintended humor. 'Turkey cock, sounds like an all-male strip review.' Danny was musing whether it would be profitable to set aside one night a month to male strippers at The Parrot Club when he swerved to avoid hitting a black Mercedes. The female driver had stopped and pulled over; Danny was tempted to jump out and scream a litany of swear words at her until he realized he had been driving on the left side of the road. The other driver looked through her back window and shot Danny an icy glare, then he saw her talking on her cell phone. That's when Danny decided to get lost quick; he and the law were like oil and water. He didn't want to mix.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

 

“Do you know the make? The model?” Emma asked, pen poised over her notebook. Regina shook her head. “Did you get a look at the license plate?”

“No. All I know is it was on the wrong side of the road heading straight toward me.”

“See your life flash before your eyes?” Emma wondered if that really happened. 

Regina closed her eyes; she took cleansing breaths through her nose to calm down. “It was shrunk.” she said and opened her eyes.

“Your life was shrunk?” Emma asked, confused.

“No. The car. Or rather, minivan. It looked like a minivan that had been shrunk in the dryer.” Regina looked at Emma, who was scribbling down information. “Please, stop being a cop for a minute.” Regina asked, her voice cracking. Emma put the notebook on the coffee table. They were alone in the living room, Henry was upstairs struggling with algebra. “Just hold me.” 

Emma wrapped Regina in a warm, protective embrace. A security blanket named Emma. 

“I know we're promising til death do us part, I didn't want it to take place immediately.” Regina sniffed and wiped her nose with a tissue.

“At most it would've been a fender bender with minor injuries. Feel better?” Emma asked, Regina was nestled against Emmas' shoulder.

“Yes. Let's talk about something happier. Are you ready to pick out a dress?”

“After the last time,” Emma began, “I'm like 'once bitten, twice shy.'”

“I don't blame you. But let's not go in expecting a fight.”

“If they say no?” Emma looked down at Regina.

“It'll be their loss and we'll go out of town, if necessary.”

“I wanted to look them up today, but we were busy. Tickets to write, ordinances to enforce.”

“Well, we'll find out tomorrow.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

“Are you sure this is the right address?” Regina asked while parking the Mercedes in front of a small bungalow house. Emma checked the slip of paper Louis the waiter had handed to them. 

“Ayup.” Emma said and stopped Regina from entering the building. “Hold on a sec, I want to have a look around.” Holding Reginas' hand the two ladies walked as much of the perimeter around the building as possible. The front of the house looked like a typical square bungalow, nothing special. The back of the house had an extension the size of a dining room built on sometime in the recent past. The paint, shingles and siding looked newer than those on the rest of the house. 

“See anything?” Regina asked.

“Not really, just wanted to satisfy my curiosity.”

“What are you curious about?” Regina wondered as they walked to the front door.

“If this is a bridal shop, why isn't it closer to the business district? Why is it located in a residential area?”

“'Cause I prefer working from home.” Emma and Regina turned to see a slim black woman with a heart shaped face. “You gonna come in or are we gonna conduct business on the front porch?” She stood back to allow the ladies entrance. “Yat?”

“What?” the ladies asked at the same time.

“One of these days I'll learn to speak northern. I mean, how are you?” 

“Fine.” Regina responded. “I take it you're not from Maine?”

The woman shook her head, “New Orleans originally.”

Emma tilted her head in confusion, “You sound like you're from Jersey.”

“I get that a lot.” The woman extended her hand, “Eudora Trudeau, welcome to my shop and home.” The ladies took turns shaking her hand and making introductions. “Come on in.” 

The ladies followed Eudora to a living room with overstuffed, comfy furniture. The walls were a bright blue and the ceiling white, giving the impression of clouds in a summer sky. There was an entrance to another room, Emma presumed it was the living quarters or a place where money was kept; the doorway was blocked by a henna colored curtain that draped on the floor. 

“So what brings you to my door, Madam Mayor?” Eudora smiled.

Regina looked at Emma as if to say 'hold onto your hat', “We're in the market for wedding dresses.”

“When's the wedding?” Eudora pulled a drawer open on the coffee table and pulled out a legal pad and pencil. She asked questions and scribbled answers down. “By dresses, I take it you mean plural? Two dresses?”

Emma felt her back go up out of habit and survival, “Yeah, it's not a double wedding with two grooms and two brides. It's gonna be her and me getting married, and if that's gonna be an issue, we can stop right now.” 

Regina petted Emmas' hands to settle her down. “We've looked elsewhere.” Regina said to Eudora. “It didn't go well.”

“Don't you worry,” Eudora addressed Emma, “You're welcome here.” 

Emma harrumphed her doubt. A lifetime spent in the system had taught her that welcomes were temporary, at best. Eudora sensed and saw the blondes' hesitation. “You being gay doesn't make any difference to me.”

“Because?” Emma felt for an answer.

“I know what it's like to be different.”

Emma raised an eyebrow at Eudoras' response. “You know what it's like to be a gay woman?”

“No,” Eudora placed the pad and pencil on the coffee table. “I know what it's like to be a slice of wheat bread in a Wonder Loaf.”

Emma chuckled and released tension, thus lowering her shoulders. “Okay.” she said.

“Can we get down to business now?” Eudora asked, picking up the pad and pencil again. The three ladies relaxed and settled in their seats. “Where did you go before my place?”

“Persephone...” Emma started and never finished. She and Regina jumped in their chairs when a mans' head thrust out from between the curtain panels. 

“We do not speak of them!” The curly headed mans' head hissed. 

Regina put a hand to her mouth to silence a gasp. Emma reached for a standard-issue firearm that wasn't on her hip. Eudora looked tired.

“A place of evil it is.” The head cocked to the side, a lopsided grin on its face; it looked like it was floating above the floor. “Ran by a toad in a suit and his intolerant wife; allergic to the twenty-first century, theirs is not a place where dreams come true, but where nightmares come to life!” The head came closer, curtains rose off the hardwood floor and before the crazy head threatened to hang before Regina, Emma balled up her fist and struck it squarely in the nose.

“Ahhh!” the head cried in pain and a pair of hands came up to stop the flow of blood that was running down its face. The curtains fell back, revealing a man in his mid thirties wearing a pair of black skinny jeans, tall black boots that came to his knee, a royal blue poet shirt and a red embroidered vest. “I nink she brak ma nos!” 

“Good!” Eudora took the man by his elbow, led him into the kitchen and firmly planted him in a chair. Emma and Regina followed. “After she's done knocking some sense into you she can arrest me for murder; I'm gonna strangle you for frightening our customers!”

“My apologies ladies, it was unintended.” The man tried to stand, but was stopped by Eudora who was tearing paper towels into smaller, nostril size pieces and thrusting them, none too gently, up his nose. “Ow! Eudora!” he cried.

“Breathe through your mouth,” she ordered and shoved his head down. “Keep your head like that, it'll prevent you from swallowing blood.” Then she went to the freezer and pulled out a bag of frozen black eyed peas and placed it on his nose.

“I heard the 'P' word and went,” he drew circles in the air next to his temple. “Terribly sorry.” 

“Who are you?” Emma asked, her hands still balled up.

“Jefferson Winter.” he tipped a hat that wasn't there. Emma wondered what else was missing. “I work here with Eudora.” The ladies introduced themselves.

“He's my partner,” she started. “I wish you were a silent partner.” Eudora glared at him. “Although right now,” she said, switching out the blood soaked paper towels for fresh ones, “I feel more like a keeper.” 

“We design together. Has she shown you the dresses yet?”

“No,” Regina said, “We were interrupted.” Jefferson looked like a dog that had been caught peeing on the carpet. 

“Sorry. Eudora, get the books, show them. Show them!” He tried waving her away.

“You're still bleeding, Jefferson.” Eudora said as Jefferson stood up, gently, and pushed her toward the workroom.

“Duly noted, but don't let that stop you. Ladies, stick around. You're gonna see something magical!”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Eudora had retrieved two large photo albums from the workroom and went into the living room with the ladies while Jefferson cleaned up. Emma and Regina made themselves comfortable on a plush loveseat and bent their heads over a book. Jefferson went into the office/spare bedroom and fished a black pullover sweater from the closet; he mourned the loss of brocade and silks, but they were being pretreated in the bathroom sink. After tenderly washing his battered nose, he slipped into the sweater and entered the living room. 

“Hi, ya, slugger.” He said to Emma and smiled. 

“No hard feelings?” Emma asked.

Jeffersons' gaze traveled up and down her frame with a shrewd eye, “Lay off the pizza rolls.” He said playfully, “Okay, I'm good! The war's over! Have we made a decision yet?” He plopped on a footstool by Eudora, who was sitting in a high-backed chair and peered at her drawings on the legal pad she was holding. Every now and again he'd take the pencil from her, shake his head and add something of his own. 

“How'd you two kids meet?” Jefferson asked. 

Emma started, “I guess you'd say through my work.”

“How so?” Eudora asked without looking up from the pad. “Nice jacket, by the way. Good cut for you.”

“Thanks, it's my favorite. If I could wear it with a uniform, I would. I used to be a bounty hunter and I was bringing a skip to the jail in Storybrooke,” Emma said, with Jefferson leaning forward on the stool. 

“And I,” Regina interjected, “was at the jail talking to Sheriff Nolan about city business, when all of a sudden the door flew open and here she was,” Regina motioned to Emma, “dragging a wall of a man inside. What was his name?”

“Hugh McGuffin. Property damage of a thousand dollars or more. He kicked in somebodys' French doors.” Emma sounded as if she were reading the mans' file. 

“She and David put the man in a cell and processed paperwork.” Regina continued.

“And you stayed around to watch a pro in action?” Jefferson nudged for more information.

“I, actually, was about to leave, but something told me to stay. So I did.” Regina said.

“How sweet!” Jefferson cooed, “Love at first booking!”

“Not exactly,” Emma said. “David offered me a job as a deputy. At first I wasn't sure, I've been a bail bondsman for a long time and was used to living on the road.”

“What changed your mind?” Eudora asked. “Do you always wear black, Ms. Mills?”

“Sometimes darker jewel tones, but I found black suits me best. I gave her a tour of Storybrooke. We had dinner. She met Henry, my son.” Regina offered. “I asked for her phone number and gave her mine.”

“For months we traded phone calls, emails, texts...Skyped a lot.” Emma remembered that they did more than talk on Skype and smiled at the memory. “I made weekend trips down from Boston. The more we talked, the more I realized I didn't want to be away from her.”

“And now you're home.” Regina said quietly, squeezing Emmas' hand. 

“Now I'm home.” Emma agreed.

Jefferson took the box of tissues Eudora offered. “Don't make me cry, it hurts my nose!” Eudora looked tolerantly at Jefferson.

“He's a sucker for romance.” Eudora explained. “Ladies, after hearing your story and getting to know you, I've decided that these can't help you.” Eudora pulled the photo books from Emma and Reginas' grasp. The ladies sat gape-mouthed, too shocked to claim discrimination. 

“But they're beautiful and you seem so nice!” Regina argued.

“I know,” Eudora continued, “but what you need are these.” She turned the legal pad around to face the ladies and now their mouths were hanging open for a whole new reason. “You two aren't the routine white-dress-and-a-veil brides. You need dresses that compliment your personalities, your lives. I believe these two dresses do just that.”

Jefferson smiled, his wild eyes glinting with glee, “Told you.”

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==

Zelena Forrest sat in her home office shooting rubber bands at a book on a shelf. She hadn't gotten a response from her Andrew about the present she left weeks ago; although to a woman who wants something desperately, it felt more like years. 

Couldn't he smell how much she wanted him? Didn't he remember the play times they had? The scratch marks she left? 

She checked her phone, no messages that mattered. One from a water softener company, one from cable about an upgrade and a text reminder to get her oil changed.

Zelena shot another rubber band. 

'He said he wanted to do something wild and unusual. Andrew wanted to be brave in the bedroom.' Zelena thought of the carpet burns on his back that escalated into cuff marks around his wrists. It was when she bought the cage that he got scared. 'Andrew said he didn't like enclosed spaces,' but Zelena thought she could cure him of that; it had plenty of room for a Mastiff, it should be big enough for her Andrew. He had come over for dinner and sexy fun times; she made sure he had too much to drink and when he woke up in the locked cage—secured with zip ties--he panicked. 'I was only thinking of him.' Zelena defended her decision to ignore his cries that ranged from child-like pleading to threats of destroying her relatives both near and far. She had draped a large sheet over the kennel to give him 'quiet time' and when she no longer heard whimpers and sobs she assumed he had calmed down. Zelena didn't know Andrew had used a pen knife to saw the ties and opened the latches from the inside. 

Andrew ran from her that night. Ran and never looked back, even after she called to explain. Sent texts outlining her reasons. A year of calls and gifts (like the one she left at his shop) and no response from Andrew. 

It hurt to see him move on with that plain Jane librarian. 'She probably thinks leaving the lights on is too kinky.' Zelena shot another rubber band. 'That little bitch can't give Andrew what he needs. She doesn't understand him at all!' 

Suddenly Zelena smiled. 'This year I'll get him back. He has to see me, his son, what's his name, attends my school! I have to get Andrew to come to the school, somehow. After seeing me, his love will be rekindled and we can be together!'

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Roland knew exactly how he was going to explain coming home with a limp: he'd lie through his teeth. Oskar Westelton had been on a rampage this week; jabbing at kids with a pencil as they walked by, pushing them as they tried to find a seat. But it was when he put his boat-sized feet between the legs of a second grader, tripping them, that's what finally got Rolands' goat. It's one thing to pick on kids your size, or nearly your size, but when Oskar assaulted someone a third his size, Roland lashed out. 

Let his parents get mad, if they found out. Which they probably wouldn't; Aqualung the bus driver was too distracted by high school girls to pay attention to a fight that was breaking out under his nose. 

First Oskar had jabbed and tripped the kid, then he booted the boy in the butt while he was down. Roland didn't think, he acted. He walked up and punched Oskar in the eye, causing him to react with anger instead of his instincts saying 'WTF?! That hurts!” Oskar drew up to his full height, filling the aisle with his form. The boy on the floor scrambled to get away. Oskar advanced and threw a clumsy punch at Roland, the younger boy bending Oskars' extended arm to an unnatural angle. The bus lurched back and forth, causing Roland to miss Oskars knee and his foot hit the floor of the bus with force, pain shooting up from Rolands' heel to his knee. Oskar thought on his feet and grabbed a seat back for balance. He tossed Roland aside like a backpack. Roland landed on a group of kids, his body half on and half off the seat; as he scrambled to stand upright, Oskar stepped forward, raised his right leg to strike—looking like he was trying to squash a bug--and was thrown forward by the bus coming to a halt. While the larger boy was off balance, Roland saw his chance and threw multiple punches at Oskars' groin area. Oskar swung his right arm like a pendulum, hitting Roland in the jaw. While Roland felt his teeth rattle Oskar limped in place, finding no comfortable position for his balls. 

The sight of two students standing in the aisle gained the bus drivers' attention. The boys sat down across from each other in tense silence. 

“Pussy monkey boy.” Oskar spat.

“Asshole.” Roland replied. 

“Daddy still afraid of Mommy?” Oskar threw a verbal jab.

“He's not afraid of anybody, least of all my Mom.” 

“Why doesn't he come to school, then?”

Roland didn't know, he didn't know if he wanted to know. Instead, he deflected. “One of these days you're gonna get your ass handed to you.”

Oskar chortled, “By who, monkey boy? You?” 

“Doesn't matter who, as long as it happens. And it will.”

“Keep telling yourself that, monkey boy with a pussy daddy.”

“It'll happen. You'll pick a fight, thinking they're too small and weak to strike back. 

The driver ground gears as they brought the bus to a stop. Roland grabbed his backpack and limped his way up the aisle, feeling Oskars' eyes on his back the whole way.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Sit still, let me put some ice on it.” Marian told Roland. They were in the office of her studio; he was sitting in her chair, his leg was propped up on an extra chair. “How did this happen?” she asked.

“Gym class.” Roland lied.

“I call bullshit.” Marian said, sitting on the edge of her desk.

“Mom!” Roland was surprised, it wasn't like his mom to curse. Unless...

“This semester your gym class is first thing in the morning. If it were true—which I doubt—that you got hurt in gym, doing what again?” She baited him.

Roland thought fast, “Running laps.”

Marian made a noise of doubt and squinted at her son. “Roland, you can't be getting into trouble at school.”

“I won't.” The gorilla in the room scratched its silver back, put on reading glasses and started reading the paper. “Mom,” Roland began, the words coming out slowly, “is Dad afraid of you? Because you teach martial arts?”

“Say that again?” Marian asked, not sure if she heard it correctly the first time. 

“It's something somebody told me on the bus.”

Marian pointed to the side of Rolands' jaw, where a red lump was forming. “The one that gave you this?”

“Yeah.”

“So you were fighting on the bus?” Her expression promised eternal grounding if he lied to her again.

“Yeah. I'm sorry. It won't happen again, even if I have to walk home every day.”

Marian shook her head, “Not with winter coming, I'll pick you up myself. So,” she sighed heavily, “about your question.”

“Is he?”

“What do your own eyes tell you?” she asked.

“No. But why doesn't he come to parent/teacher night? Why is it if I'm sick he never picks me up, you do? It's not me, is it?”

While all conversations with your child are necessary, they're not all necessarily comfortable. In fact, some make parents want to flee to the hills, screaming “I'm not ready for this subject!”

“Dad and your principal used to date.” Marian felt a weight shift, but not fall off. 

“Huh?” 

“It was a long time ago and it didn't end well.”

Rolands' expression was a mixture of confusion and denial. The idea of Dad and Mom smooching was gross enough, but to picture him and Principal Forrest? Ew, yuck, ew! 

“He'd rather not see her, even if it is once or twice a year.” Marian continued. 

After hearing an episode of 'Life Before Mom', Roland didn't want to see her either.

“Do you have any questions?” Marian asked tentatively.

Roland looked up at his mom with wide eyes full of shock and a stomach filled with nausea. “Can I delete the last five minutes?”

Marian wondered that herself.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Charlotte had made a decision, and there was no going back from it. 

“It's all on you this year, Ruby.” She announced to her granddaughter, whose mouth was hanging open.

“So you're bailing on one of our biggest weekends?”

“I'm taking a much deserved break. I've worked Thanksgiving weekend every year since I was younger than you. I trust you. You'll be fine.” She patted Ruby on the shoulder.

“You've been taking quite a few breaks lately.” Ruby smiled as Charlotte scowled. “An evening at the movies here, a free concert in the park there, a tour of a certain radio station.” Ruby needled more, “I've seen the way you two look at each other.”

“Shut up.”

“Been listening to the radio lately, seems a lot of songs are about love.”

“I'm warning you.” Charlotte pointed a finger at Ruby. 

“Love.” Ruby sing-songed.

“Be quiet.” Charlotte seethed.

“Luv!” Ruby finished with a flourish and Charlotte poked her grand daughter in the arm with an arthritic finger. “Oh, come on! I think it's sweet. So, should I expect you at work at all, or will you be a disco inferno the entire three days?” She turned on her heel and exited the office, making her way to the front of the diner with Charlotte on her trail.

“What kind of a...” Seeing there were customers in the vicinity, Charlotte lowered her voice to a whisper. “Hussy do you think I am? I'm only going to his place for dinner.”

“All alone?” said a starchy voice at the bar. Charlotte and Ruby turned to see Blue Fey witnessing their conversation. “That doesn't seem wise to me.”

“Neither does you coming back after swearing never to return!” Charlotte reminded her, “Get out!”

“I'm a paying customer, you have no right!” Fey complained loudly, attracting the attention of other customers.

“Have you bought anything yet?” Charlotte asked. 

“Well, no.” Fey replied.

“Then you're not a paying customer!” 

From the end of the bar came a calm, firm voice. “As a business owner she can deny services to anyone she chooses.” Emma said and looked at Blue Fey. “I suggest you don't make this hard on yourself.” She held eye contact with the woman until Fey left in a huff. Then Emma held up her coffee cup; Charlotte approached with a full pot. “So what's this I hear about you taking time off? Hope you're not sick or something.”

“No, Deputy Swan, I'm going to a friends' house for Thanksgiving dinner.” Charlotte said. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ruby mouth 'more than friends.'

“Just the two of you?” Emma blew across the rim of the cup and swallowed. 

“Uh, no. His family will be there. Daughter, grandson.”

Ruby was taken aback, “Granny, you're gonna meet his family, like officially meet them?”

“Yes, I guess I am.” Charlotte wiped her sweaty palms on her sweater.

Seeing the importance of the event, Ruby apologized. “I was a shit before.”

“You're always a shit.” Charlotte noted, “It's part of your charm.”

“Meeting the family of your special somebody on a holiday weekend. That means one thing...” Ruby began.

“You're gonna need a new outfit. Maybe a smart pantsuit or a new skirt and blouse. You'd look good in jewel tones, stay away from pastels, especially yellow; it would make you look jaundiced.” Emma finished and the two ladies stared at her, agog that the woman who only ever wore a tan uniform knew anything of fashion. “What? I live with Regina.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=

Malcolm looked at the bank balance on the screen again: $212.87 was in checking, $107.91 in savings. There should have been at least sixteen hundred in checking, he had been paid last week! Malcolm did some mental math, according to his rough calculations, Gerri had blown through a thousand dollars in seven days. He looked at the pile of unpaid bills on his desk; the car payments, the mortgage, credit card bills were all due and he had nothing to pay them with. Malcolm wondered if this was how an ant feels right before it gets stepped on. 

There comes a time in a relationship when hope is the only thing that is keeping it alive. (That, plus fear and bloody-minded stubbornness.) Malcolms' marriage was on life support with only the chance of a Lifetime Movie miracle to make it resume breathing on its own. Maybe he could make his own miracle?

The following day, Malcolm opened new checking and saving accounts at Storybrooke Bank. During his lunch hour, Malcolm visited Human Resources and requested his paycheck be directly deposited into the new accounts. After work he locked himself in the study with the bills and his phone and arranged automatic withdrawls for the creditors. For the first time in months, Malcolm slept without a weight on his chest. That was, until Gerri came home.

“You're awake.” Gerri said, entering the house and holding her shoes.

“Where were you?” An uncomfortable conversation has to start somewhere, he thought.

Gerri shrugged. “I don't have to tell you. You're not my father.”

“I tried calling, but your phone was dead.”

Malcolm didn't know she never answered her phone, in case the person was a certain loud, obnoxious and decidedly scary loan shark. “Must've forgot to charge it. If you're done with the third degree, I'm going to bed.”

“I'm not. Why are you never home?” 

She shrugged again. She didn't know what to say because she didn't know how to explain that her split-level life felt like a prison. 

“Do you have any cash on you?” Malcolm asked, “Felix needs lunch money.”

Gerri blew through her nose, “No.” Lies, she had two twenty dollar bills in her wallet. “Take it out of savings.”

“I can't. There's hardly anything in it.”

“What about checking?” Gerri said, a nervous break in her voice.

“Let's cut the crap, Gerri.” Malcolm said in warning, “You and I both know you've been spending money like water.” 

Gerri sighed heavily, as if the subject of money were tiresome. “Are we on this again?”

“And your well now has a smaller bucket.”

Gerri blinked at Malcolm, a fear closing in on her. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, wife of mine,” Malcolm said, unsure if she'd agree, “I'm sick of having a good job but still living from hand to mouth. Your spending sprees are over.”

“You can't keep me from accessing the bank accounts!”

“I can if your name isn't on them.”

“You're cutting me off?!”

“Let's say your access will be limited. I've decided that you will get a reloadable card for an allowance.”

“Allowance?! You son of a bitch, I'm not a child! You can't treat me like this!”

“Maybe if you had less money, you'll have fewer reasons to leave us alone every night.”

“This is a nightmare!” Gerri gripped the sides of her head as if she were flying apart. 

“Then it's time you woke up, Gerri. When was the last time you talked to me? To Felix? Remember him?”

“I know who my son is,” she sneered, “I'm not stupid.”

“He wants you to ask him about his grades, what shows he's watching or music he's listening to. He wants you in his life, even in his personal space if necessary. Felix needs that.”

'What about my needs? QVC was running a special on charmed ankle bracelets!' Gerri thought to herself. 

“Gerri, think, do you want to risk losing Felix? Losing me?”

She looked up at Malcolm with such hatred that her expression read positive. Maybe miracles take time, once the anger wears off.

“I'm sleeping on the couch tonight.” Gerri walked to the sofa and ran a finger around the rim of a lampshade on the end table, “And every night until your stupidity fades.”

Malcolm sighed and climbed the stairs to his room. “I'm used to sleeping alone.” When his back was turned she softly called his name. He turned and saw a brass lamp flying at his head.


	9. Heal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Green demons, movie endings, feelings and fears, friendships started, ever-escalating Zelena craziness.  
> Thanks to everyone who reads, reviews and kudos.   
> As always, a big thanks to my editor. His discerning eye makes me a better writer.

Storybrooke PTA: Chapter Nine

 

Heal

written by Tom Odell

Take my mind  
And take my pain  
Like an empty bottle takes the rain  
And heal, heal, heal heal

And take my past  
And take my sense  
Like an empty sail takes the wind  
And heal, heal, heal

And tell me some things last  
And tell me some things last

Take a heart  
And take a hand  
Like an ocean takes the dirty sand  
And heal, heal, heal, heal

Take my mind  
And take my pain  
Like an empty bottle takes the rain  
And heal, heal, heal, heal

And tell me some things last

 

Twelve thousand dollars! The doctor told Leroy and Astrid fertility treatments would cost upwards of twelve thousand dollars! When she told the hopeful couple the cost, they felt like the air had been sucked out of the room and they were struggling to breathe. Astrid and Leroy gave the doctor an empty promise of 'thinking about it.' A snowball had a better chance in hell than of them affording treatments.

“Maybe there is, at least partly.” Astrid said the day after the appointment. 

They were in the kitchen of their home, she making coffee and he straightening his tie. 

“How's that?” Leroy asked.

“Mom and Dad gave me a few things. Old jewelry, trinkets, bric a brac. Maybe I can see what they're worth and sell them.”

“I loved your parents, but sometimes I thought they was hoarders. I think they hung onto a bunch of junk that didn't mean anything to anybody but them.”

“Leroy, be nice.” she scolded, feeling a gap in her heart. “They were a bit unusual, yes.”

“A couple of old hippies.” He smiled gently to take the sting out of the comment. 

“They must've been to give Sissy and me such unusual names. Couldn't have named us Janet and Mary like normal parents.”

A silence fell between the two, less like a curtain and more like a wire screen. Leroy dipped a toe into waters he knew were frigid. “Talked to your sister lately?” 

“Nope.”

“Do you wanna?” 

“Nope.”

“I wish you two'd talk. Don't you miss her?”

“Sometimes. But she lit the bridges, not me.”

“Jesus, Astrid. Sometimes I wonder if this bothers you at all, not havin' your only blood family around. Me and my brothers don't always get along, but we're there for each other.”

Astrid turned and faced her husband. “Leroy, it's not like when Blue used to take my roller blades or favorite cargo pants. Your brothers never stole what was rightfully yours, they didn't take advantage of you. Blue did. She couldn't bear the thought of somebody else having what she wanted. Not that she needed it, she just wanted it so nobody else could have it. All for her. Like she's always done. Well, now she's got the house, the furnishings and the whole nine yards. But she's lost a sister.”

Leroy looked sheepishly at his wife, “Sorry 'bout that, in more ways than one. Need help draggin' things to Golds' pawn shop?”

“No, I think everything can fit in my bag, or maybe a tote.” Astrid sighed, “I wish things were better between my sister and me, but I wouldn't hold my breath.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Neal, please.” Mary Margaret pointed at the sketchbook he was scribbling in during class. “Put it away until your free time.” Then she turned to the white board to demonstrate how to solve an algebraic equation. Neal sighed and begrudgingly put the sketchbook in his back pack, but that didn't stop him from doodling on his worksheet. 

Since Aunt Lacey sent her request for a tattoo design, Neal had been living with the book she gifted him. He carried it around, drawing during meals, sketching when he should be doing schoolwork; once when he and his Papa were walking across Main Street to Any Given Sundae, Neal was so distracted by a composition that needed just a little more polish that Papa had to stop him from walking into oncoming traffic with his cane. Neal was grounded from sketching for two nights because he wasn't watching what he was doing and causing Papa to grow more gray hairs. 

Neal glanced around the room to see if algebra made sense to anyone else. By the looks on many faces, he'd most likely say no. One boy who sat one aisle over and two seats behind Neal looked like he'd been dropped in a foreign country and could only ask where the bathrooms were. The kid was scratching at his shirt collar and Neal noticed the shirt—is that who he thought it was?--looked two sizes too big for him. Neal wished the boy would sit back in his seat so he could make sure. 

“When you're finished with your work, return the papers to my desk, please.” Ms. Blanchard said and wrote another set of problems on the white board. 

That's when Neal got his chance. The kid got up and approached Ms. Blanchards' desk, handed in his paper with a look of futility on his face and trudged to his seat as if he were going to work in a salt mine. On the way back, Neals' guess was confirmed.

“Psst.” Neal signaled the boy as he passed by. Neal plucked at his own shirt, pointed to the boy and gave him a thumbs up. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Mary Margaret had seen the exchange between Neal and Henry, but didn't say anything. A head nod and an approving grin didn't warrant a talking-to. She looked at Henry Mills' worksheet and wondered if her tutoring was helping at all; she didn't see much improvement. Mary Margaret wondered if someone could explain algebra better to Henry: Mr. Q, the academic lab teacher, or maybe Mrs. Smith, an eighth-grade teacher? She glanced in Henrys' direction; she'd have to remind him of the schools' dress code, the woman on his shirt was almost dressed. Maybe he could turn it inside out? 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Henry was tired down to his bones. So tired his head threatened to droop onto the floor and be pushed in front of him like a snow shovel. It wasn't nine o'clock in the morning yet and he was exhausted. He had stayed up late reading, doing homework (What's the password? Algebra sucks!) and watching self-defense videos on You Tube; by the time he went to sleep it was after one in the morning. His morning had gone something like this:

Emma: Get up! Why aren't you up yet? You're gonna miss the bus...dammit you missed the bus. 

Regina: He missed the bus?

Emma: Yes.

Regina: I'll take him. (to Henry) Get moving, I'll drop you off on my way to work. 

Henry: Don' worry, I'll walk. (looks at drizzle hitting the window) Fine, take me to school.

Emma: (to Regina) He can walk in this. 

Regina: (to Emma) It's raining. (gestures to window)

Emma: (to Regina) He'll be fine, it builds character.

(Thunder rumbles outside and rain increases in intensity. Ladies look at each other.)

Regina: If it builds character so much, you do it.

Emma: I'll give you a ride, kid. (Looks at Henry, who is lying on bed, dozing.)

Emma and Regina: Henry!

Henry: I'm awake. (stumbles to closet, moves hangers back and forth as if looking for something that isn't there) I'm out of shirts.

Regina: (looks at clothes lying here and there on Henrys' floor) Are these clean or dirty? (Emma leaves the room.)

Henry: (sleepily) Dunno, maybe both.

Regina: (scolds her son, Henry hears Charlie Browns' teacher)

Emma returns, tosses a shirt at Henry.

Emma: Put this on and hurry up. 

Henry: 'K. (looks at shirt through half-closed eyes) Is this mine?

Emma: No, it's mine. Now hurry up so I can take you to school.

And that explains why Henry is wearing a Boris Vallejo shirt. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Neal hoisted his back pack onto his shoulder and searched around the gym for a place to sit. It was the end of the day; all three grades (sixth, seventh, and eighth) had been released from their class rooms to gather in the gymnasium to be dismissed for their buses. Kids were sitting on the floor in clusters of three, four or five to a group. There were some students who spread as many of their personal items as they could—jackets, back packs, books—on the floor around them, creating a territorial line that one did not simply walk over. There was space along one wall near the boys' bathroom. Neal made a beeline for it and found the kid from class with the cool shirt.

“Mind if I sit here, Boris?” Neal asked.

“Name's Henry Mills, and it's fine.” Henry pulled a book from his backpack and began to read.

“Mills.” Neal mused over the name, then it dawned on him. “Your mom's the mayor, right?”

“Yeah.” Henry replied, wishing the boy would leave him alone.

“Cool art.” Neal nodded at Henrys' shirt and leaned in closer, as if he were trading government secrets. “How'd you not get coded?”

Henry shrugged his shoulders. “Dunno. When I slouch everything's folded over and you can't see much.”

“Says you!” said a voice standing over them. Henry and Neal looked up and saw a boy about their age with a mop of dark brown hair and deep dimples smiling at them. Or rather, at Henrys' shirt. “Move over and turn your back to the teachers.”

“Why should I?” Henry asked, suspicious of the boy and reluctant to give up a floor spot he just warmed up.

“Yeah, dimples, why should he?” Neal asked.

The new boy pushed his heavy backpack off his shoulder and it landed on the tile floor with a thud. Then he took his place next to Henry.

“'Cause technically it's still school and technically the teachers can still bust you for dress code violation.”

Neal looked at Henry. “He's right, Boris.”

Henry scooted over, put his back to the authorities and slouched casually. But not too casually. “See anybody looking?” he whispered.

“You get that,” the dimpled boy asked, “online?”

“No, got it from my mom.” Henry clarified.

Neal smiled, “Wicked cool, the mayor wears Boris Vallejo.”

“No, my other mom.” Henry explained when the boys stared at him. “She's not officially my other mom yet, but Emma will be after they get married.” Henry sat straighter, expecting a crass comment to be thrown his way. “Is that a problem?” He said in a 'I can live my life without you if it's not' sort of way.

“Zippity do-da, zippity ay,” Roland sang low, “I don't care if they I.d. as gay.”

Henry stared at Roland, surprised into silence; relief at their acceptance caused his perpetual guard on duty to take a break. Henry would have laughed at the joke, but Neal was laughing enough for the both of them. 

“Shut it up,” Roland said to Neal, “We're getting stared at.”

“By who?” Henry glanced over his shoulder and saw Miss Blanchard in a far corner talking to a group of students. 

Being told to be quiet sent Neal into a harder fit of cackles until the shadow of a teacher fell over them. 

“What's so funny?” Miss Blanchard asked.

“Nothing.” Neal calmed down and wiped tears from his eyes. “Just nothing.”

“It's good to see you boys smiling, during the math portion some of you,” Miss Blanchard glanced at Neal and Henry, “Looked like you were being forced to do something terrible, like eat cooked spinach or go to the dentist.”

“Nah,” Neal began, “Algebra's just tough is all.”

“That's all.” Miss Blanchard corrected. “Henry, you look exhausted,” she noticed the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. Are you alright?”

“Yes. I stayed up late last night. Reading.”

“Make sure you get plenty of rest, tests are coming up soon. Bye boys.”

“Tests.” Henry sighed heavily, “Whooppee. She's been tutoring me for weeks and I still can't catch on. Maybe I have a readers' brain, not one made for higher math.”

“Reading?” Roland asked. “That I'd believe, you always have a book with you.” He gestured to the copy of 'Wonder' in Henrys' lap. “What else kept you up late, girls?”

Henry wouldn't admit that the thought of girls sounded good on paper, like an adventure. But in real life, one adventure he doubted he'd know how to survive.

“Nah,” Henry shook his head, “YouTube videos.”

“Oh, yeah?” Neal asked, “Which ones?”

“These,” Henry pulled his phone from his backpack and brought his favorite channel up on the screen.   
“Martial arts videos.”

The other two boys leaned over the phone. 

“Cool.” Neal said, watching the participants' fast moves.

“This guy sucks.” Roland said and Henry felt like he would have to defend his likes and dislikes to the boy. “His feet are all wrong. He's overextending his elbow and it looks like he's just showing off.”

“How do you know so much about self-defense?” Henry asked as his bus number was announced over the speakers. He scrambled to get his belongings together.

“Red Dragon studios. My mom runs it.” Roland replied. “Look it up!” Roland called out as Henry dashed for the door.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Henry repeated the name of the studio all the way to the bus. Red Dragon, Red Dragon, Red Dragon. It became a mantra of hope. After tossing his backpack on his bedroom floor, Henry sat down on his bed with his laptop and found Red Dragon studios online. When he pitched the idea to his moms at dinner that night, Regina dropped her fork from shock.

“Fighting?” Regina wiped the front of her blouse with a napkin. “You want to learn how to be violent?”

“It's not like that, Mom!” Henry sighed into the red sauce, pushing a meatball around on his plate.

“Actually,” Emma said through a mouthful of salad, “It's a good idea to know how to defend yourself.”

Regina turned to her partner, “Why is that?”

Emma chewed and swallowed. “Because not all bullies fight with words.”

Regina sighed heavily. “But violence doesn't solve all problems, Emma.”

“True,” Emma agreed, “But it might prevent a small problem from getting bigger.” 

“Like when I got hit in the eye.” Henry offered.

“Has anything like that happened since then?” Regina asked and waited a lifetime for an answer.

“No.” Henry mumbled.

Emma spoke first, “You're saying 'no,' but I'm hearing 'kinda.' Which is it?”

Henry put his fork down and stared at the uneaten meatballs on his plate. “Nothing physical.” He said, as if mental or social beat-downs were supposed to be better.

“What then?” Regina asked.

“A couple of notes, some comments in the halls, that kind of stuff.”

“And that principal wouldn't do anything if you did report it to her.” Regina tossed her napkin down in frustration. “But if you were caught fighting, even in self-defense, you'd get into trouble.”

“Why?” Emma asked. “Even if Henry were fighting off an attacker?” Emma held up a hand to soothe Regina. “Knock on wood.” 

“Yes. It's called collective punishment.” Regina explained. “Teachers use peer pressure to make students behave.”

Emma blew a raspberry, “They were doing that when I was in school. A couple of kids would cause a problem—talking too loud, making a mess during class—and instead of singling out the little shit that done it, the whole class would miss recess, or a movie or whatever fun thing was going on that day. It sucked then.”

“Still does.” Henry said to Emma then turned to Regina. “Maybe word would get around that I'm taking lessons and people would decide to leave me alone?”

“I'd prefer that certain people would behave better.” Regina offered her opinion.

“But that takes time, Mom.” Henry pointed out.

“The kid's right.” Emma said, then got out her phone. A few clicks later she said, “Aha!”

“Aha, what?” Regina asked, still wishing for a more polite society.

“I'm on Red Dragons' website. They're closed now, but maybe this week we could drop by and get a tour?”

“Cool!” Henry declared, as if Regina wasn't in the room, “Can we, Emma?”

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

“Dammit!” Regina said and washed her fingers off under the bathroom tap. She had been so distracted by feeling shut out and dismissed that she'd mistakenly applied sunscreen to her face instead of night cream.

“What's wrong?” Emma called from their bedroom.

Regina wet down a washcloth and scrubbed her face with soap and water. She splashed warm water over her face and looked at her reflection in the mirror; her mouth had turned down into an angry line, her brows were knitting together and her lids were half-closed.

“I look like an angry pug.” Regina said to herself.

“Yes, yes you do.” Emma said and Regina jumped, not expecting to be overheard. “Care to explain why you look like you belong on a meme?”

Regina patted her clean face with a hand towel and pushed past Emma to the bedroom. “I'm fine. I just want to go to bed.”

“Don't blame you. It's been a long day,” Emma said, “but I'm afraid it's going to get longer.”

Regina removed her earrings and placed them in a cherry wood jewelry box. “What are you talking about, Emma?”

“You didn't want to snuggle during the movie. You refused to sit on the couch with me. Either Storybrooke is having its first official freeze of the season or you're pissed at me for something.”

“I wasn't in the mood.” Regina retorted.

“Must not be. You're wearing 'No Fucking Tonight' pajamas.”

Regina stole a look at herself in the dresser mirror. She was wearing a pair of green and yellow checked flannel bottoms, an oversized, boxy t-shirt with a rainbow colored horse and Christmas knee socks that looked like they had been liberated from a bargain bin. 

“I'm comfortable.” Regina said.

“I'm not.” Emma responded. “You're mad. It takes a lot to make you mad. I don't like to see my lady upset.” She wrapped her arms around Reginas' middle and waited for her love to defrost. “Please talk to me.”

The muscles in Reginas' chest, which had been in a knot all evening, finally loosened up. Regina let out a deep sigh and melted into Emmas' arms. “It was like my opinion didn't matter.”

“When? At dinner?” Emma surveyed for answers.

“Yes. And then Henry acted like I wasn't there. He put everything to you.” Regina sniffed and wiped her hand with her sleeve. “As if I had no say whatsoever.”

“You're his mother.” Emma said, underlining the point. “Whether it's about martial arts training or choosing a college major, you will always have a say.” She felt Regina emit a shuddering sigh and her love relaxed. “Is that all?”

“I was afraid he liked you better as a mother than me, and I became resentful.” Reginas' frown broke into a lopsided grin. “In my head it sounded like a legitimate worry. Insecurity is a damned monster.”

Emma snorted, “I picture a green demon with horns whispering in your ear, 'Henry loves Emma 'cause she's the fun one.'” She stopped smiling when she saw Regina frowning again. “I'm sorry. You don't have to be the 'fun one,' you just have to love Henry.”

“I'm going to go talk to him.” Regina said and walked down the hall to Henrys' room. She knocked on the door, after a moment or two it was opened by an exhausted teen. 

“Am I dreaming this?” Henry asked, staring at Reginas' clothes.

“No.” Regina said and straightened her boxy top to look more presentable. “I've been thinking and we'll tour Red Dragon studios this weekend.”

“Yay.” Henry said through a yawn.

“Get some rest, you look dead on your feet. I love you.”

Without further prompting, Henry turned around and flopped face first onto his mattress. He was snoring before Regina shut the door. 

“I can hear how he took it.” Emma said as Regina entered their bedroom. “Kid sounds like a buzzsaw.”

“He's too tired to be excited.” 

“Are you gonna change?” Emma pointed to Reginas' pajamas.

“I should, shouldn't I? Save these for lazy, rainy days.” Regina remarked.

“Yes, you should take it off and leave it off forever.”

“What shall I wear instead?” Regina teased.

Emma went to her side of the closet and pulled a black paper shopping bag from behind a stack of sweat shirts. She presented the bag to Regina, who was sitting on the bed.

“What's this?” Regina wondered.

“A present.”

“For me?” Regina smiled. Emma felt Reginas' smile could warm up a room. Certainly heated up her own cold heart. 

“For you.” Emma said, gesturing to the bag. “Go on, open it.”

Regina removed the black and silver tissue paper from the bag and reached inside. Her hand touched something with two textures. She pulled the item from the bag. Regina exclaimed and held the present up for further inspection. “It looks like something Jean Harlow would wear!” It was a nightgown in royal blue with black lace decorating the shoulder straps, bust and a section from right hip to the floor. “With a stole and the right jewelry it could pass as an evening gown!”

“I'd prefer you wear it in, Queenie.” Emma said and silently bid Regina to stand. “But first, let's put this outfit in a landfill.”

Emma placed her hands on Reginas' hips and slowly slid the assaulting flannel pants down to her ankles, along with her loves' panties. Regina placed her hand on a night stand and steadied herself as Emma removed the socks and pants, tossing them into the bathroom. Then she removed the t-shirt and hoped to never see it again. Regina slid the nightgown over head, the silky material embracing her skin.

“You look like you belong on the silver screen.” Emma remarked and looked appreciatvely at Regina. “Can I have your autograph, Miss Mills?”

“You certainly can.” Regina purred and bid her love closer with a crook of her finger. “And I know just where to sign.” She pushed Emmas' jeans down her hips with some difficulty as Emma was wriggling; Regina slapped Emma on the butt. “Hold still, you're making this difficult.”

“I'm trying to help.”

Regina grabbed Emmas' ass with both hands and dug her nails in as Emma hissed in pain.

“Stop helping and obey.” Regina whispered and released Emmas' flesh as the blond nodded.

“Yes, ma'm!” Emma squeaked.

“Now,” Regina surveyed Emmas' body, “Where to put my name?” Regina unbuttoned Emmas' top and slid it off her shoulders, discarding it on the floor. She noticed Emma was wearing a plain, uninspiring white cotton bra that clasped in the front. Regina looked at it in disgust. “I hate that bra. Looks like something you'd be issued in a hospital.” 

Without being told, Emma unhooked the bra and tossed it across the room where it landed on a table lamp.

“Beautiful breasts like yours should be embraced in lace,” Regina whispered, placing one hand on Emmas' breast, rolling the pert nipple between her fingers. “Or satin. Or even...” Regina gathered the nipple between her lips and sucked gently. Emma placed her hand on the back of Reginas' head, encouraging her love to continue. Regina lathered Emmas' nipple with attention and released it with a 'pop!' “There, I've signed. Is my fan happy?”

“No!” Emma whined, “There's so much more to put your name to.” 

“Really?” Regina traced a manicured nail down Emmas' stomach, bypassed the pussy and parked on Emmas' thigh. “How about here? This is a nice, wide open space to leave a signature.” Regina pushed Emma onto the bed and hoisted the blonds' legs into the air. “Such tasty looking legs.” She knelt down and placed her lips onto Emmas' thigh. For several minutes one spot was spoiled rotten; Regina sucked with fervor and when Emmas' leg was released, it was properly marked. Regina sat up, breathing deeply. “Isn't that a pretty signature?” she asked.

Emmas' breath was ragged, as if she had run after a perp. “You do have wonderful penmanship.”

“Hitch up.” Regina tapped Emmas' rear and Emma did as she was told. Regina grabbed the waistband of Emmas' panties and pulled down. “Sale rack underpants.” Regina said in frustration and placed them neatly on the floor next to her. “When will you get it through your thick skull that it's alright for you to wear my panties?”

Emma hoisted herself up onto her elbows. “I don't like wearing other peoples' underwear.”

“But you don't mind if I wear your pussy as a hat.” 

“Yeah.”

“You're weird.”

“I know.” Emma smiled and fell onto her back.

Regina rested her forehead on Emmas' leg and it was several fun moments before the ladies stopped laughing. When they calmed down, Regina looked up at Emma with an expression of love, awe and frustration, then dove face first into Emmas' crotch.

“Holy fuck!” Emma gasped, “Not even a, a warr...warm-up?” Emma felt Regina shaking her head while her clitoris was between Reginas' teeth. Emma scrambled to grab a pillow to cover her squeals. 

Regina spoiled Emmas' clit like it was an only child. Between licks, nips and sucks, Emma came multiple times. (The following day Emma would claim she stopped counting after forgetting how to count.)

Regina sat on the bed and looked at her love. Emmas' limbs resembled limp noodles, blond hair was strewn across Emmas' face. Emma tapped the mattress next to her and Regina laid down facing Emma.

“Your turn.” Emma declared, slithered off the bed and knelt on the floor. She pushed the silky material up Reginas' shapely calf and was kissing her way up the womans' leg when she was interrupted.

“No.” Regina whispered. 

Emma was flummoxed. She stopped and studied Regina; her expression, her limp body, the lack of light in her eyes set Emma on alert. Regina looked as if she wanted to sink into the mattress. Emma crawled up to lie beside Regina and gathered the dark haired woman into her arms.

“You're not tired, something's wrong.”

“Yes.” Regina answered in a small voice. She sounded like a child whispering to Mom that there's a monster under the bed. Saying it loudly would make it true. “No. I'm tired and want to go to bed. That's all.” 

“But you didn't get your share. And isn't it better when we share?” Emma said playfully, hoping to coax Regina out of whatever mood she was in.

“It's okay.” Regina sat up and scooted her way to the head of the bed. “I'm fine. I don't need any.”

“Maybe I'd like to give you one because I enjoy...you know what? Fuck it, playtime is over.” Emma sat up and waved her hands in exasperation. “Tell me what's wrong.”

“I feel terrible.”

“How come?”

“Because of,” Regina dropped her voice to almost a whisper. “Going down on you.”

Emma shook her head in disbelief, “Why? I'm old enough.” The joke richocheted off Reginas' mood.

“It's not that. My heart wasn't in it.”

“You were faking it?” Emma asked and Regina nodded. “Why would you do that? If you're not in the mood, just say so!” Emma sighed, and a heavy silence hung between the lovers. “I thought you wanted to make love...?”

“I did, because I love you. I love watching you and giving you love. But then it felt more like fucking and some kind of test I had to pass made up by the green dragon...”

“Demon.” Emma touched Reginas' face, gently stroking away a stray tear from below her brown eyes. “We called it a demon before. Is that what this is about? You're still feeling bad about Henry coming to me and not you?”

Regina closed her eyes and nodded. “Stupid. I know.”

“No. Not stupid. You felt shaky and the green demon saw an opening.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Stop saying that.” Emma got off the bed and pulled back the coverlet, “Come under here with me. I think you need snuggling more than sex.” Regina smoothed down her new nightgown and joined Emma under the covers. 

“I am.” Regina said, once she settled into Emmas' arms. “A nights' lovemaking ruined because of a...”

“Crack in the dyke?” Emma sniggered and snorted through her nose. Regina sat up and affixed an icy gaze upon Emma, but the more severe Regina looked, the more Emma guffawed.

“You sound like a combination of Barney Rubble and Muttley the dog.” Regina said with a face she wore in Town Council meetings.

Eventually Emmas' laughter died to an ocassional chortle. She wiped her eyes with the corner of the sheet, “You have to admit, that was funny.” The edges of Reginas' lips slowly turned upwards and her fears were diminished by a laugh. She laid down, Emma facing her, stroking Reginas' eye lids, lips and brows. Emma once again wondered how she ended up here, with this raven-haired beauty. She rolled over and turned out the bed side lamp. “Tomorrow, please?” she asked sweetly and settled under the covers.

Her response was a smack with a pillow.

“I'll take that as a yes.” Emma sighed and spooned Regina. “Hey Queenie?”

“Mmmm?”

“Promise me something?”

“Anything, love.”

“Don't ever fake it again. I'd rather do without than not have you involved.”

“Done.”

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

The middle school was quiet, save for a pair of high heels clicking on the tiles. Zelena Forrest made her way from her office, a little unsteady on her feet thanks to five inch heels and a tumbler of soothing brown liquid. The building was empty, and feeling brave from Dutch courage (or in this case, Johnny Walker) she traipsed the halls openly holding alcohol. If the cleaning staff were here, Zelena would have put the liquor in a travel mug and sipped it through a straw, claiming it was tea. 

Staff room scuttlebutt claimed that the Gold boy...what's his name...had submitted his artwork to a competition of some sort. 

“I wonder what the first prize is for a macaroni necklace?” Zelena asked her drink. 

Zelena found herself standing outside the art room. The Gold boy...what's his name...had another piece of work hanging above the door. He loved his art. Gold loved him. Zelena wanted Gold to want her. She wondered lately if she was going about getting Gold back all wrong. Her plan of sending him pussy-scented panties didn't rekindle his desire for her. Maybe something stronger, a used tampon, perhaps? Or a reminder of their time together; leather cuff or zip ties? 

The more Zelena stared at the art, the more she sipped. The more she sipped, the more feelings of loss piled up around her like bricks until she felt walled in. 

“I've got no one to play with.” She whined to the empty halls. Zelena pointed a finger at what's his names' work, “If you had nothing too, you'd know how I feel.” Then an idea began in her foggy brain. Zelena touched the walls as she returned to her office. Fortunately she had left her computer on so she wouldn't have to pop brain cells like bubble wrap trying to remember how to boot it up. She set the tumbler on the edge of the desk and sat down in front of the flat screen. Squinting, she looked up the art competition website. She searched the submission page until she found whats' his names name...and removed it from the competition. Zelena stood on legs as unsteady as a newborn calfs' and carefully, quietly putting one foot in front of the other until she reached the secretarys' desk in the main lobby. There, upon the desk, sat her quarry: what's his names' pasta painting in the outgoing mail. 

It was a perfect plan. If it never goes out, it's never entered. If it's not entered, he'll be disappointed, heartbroken, shattered. And who would be there to pick up his little pre-teen pieces? Why Principal Forrest, that's who. She of the understanding heart would swoop in like a superhero (minus the cape) and comfort his cares away. Then whats' his name would tell dear Papa about the selfless saint at his school who helped him deal with a broken dream. Gold would arrive with a heart full of gratitude, ready to shake her hand, erect a statue in her honor (and if he wanted to write out a healthy check, she wouldn't say no.) And when he discovers the benevolence came from her, well, Gold would fall at her feet. 

“Why, darling, I never knew you were so kind, loving, generous. What was I thinking running away from you and into the arms of the bookworm?” (At this point, a frumpy-looking, forty pounds heavier Belle French would appear outside Zelenas' office window wearing bottle-bottom glasses, a gray wool skirt, black turtleneck sweater, fugly clogs and crying into a chocolate cake.) “What's his name,” Gold would continue on bended knee, “this is no mere woman. This is your mother!” 

Zelena could almost hear the sweet songs of heavenly hosts as she fed the artwork through the office shredder. 

-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Granny?” Ruby stuck her head into Charlottes' office door, “KP's here. He's at the bar.” 

 

Charlotte smoothed her hair back and straightened her sweater. It was the time after lunch but before dinner; a time when staff could restock, roll silverwear or steal a break; which was what Charlotte was doing.

“You two need a table of your own.” Ruby teased. “A special space just for the two of you. We could get a 'Reserved' sign. Or maybe carve your names in the laminate.”

“I thought you were going to be nice about him and me...” Charlotte began.

“Going steady?” Ruby smiled wide. “I fully support you having a special somebody. But I'm not gonna stop being a shit about it. Now,” Ruby clapped Charlotte on the shoulder, “don't keep your hunka burnin' luv waiting.”

Charlotte went to the bar, grabbed two coffee cups and a pot of strong brew. She sat a mug in front of KP and poured one for him and one for herself. He was talking to Emma, who had just come in out of the rain. KP smiled his thanks at Charlotte, then took a break from his conversation with the deputy and greeted Charlotte.

“Haven't seen much of you around here this week, KP.” she said. Then Charlotte turned to Emma and greeted her with a head nod. Emma nodded back and ordered a coffee. Charlotte poured her a cup and sat a tiny container of half-and-half in front of Emma. 

“Been busy at work with interviews.” he said, pouring a half of a pack of sugar into his coffee and stirred. 

“How many have you done?” Charlotte asked, sipping her black coffee.

“Five. One for every day this week.”

“Any contenders?” Charlotte wondered, but by the way KP rubbed his eyes, she could guess his answers.

“They know how to flip a switch and read off a monitor. Other than that, no.” KP picked up a spoon and stirred his coffee, staring into the cup as if it were a magic eight ball with all the answers.

“What do you want? Technical skills, obviously.” Granny stated, knowing how difficult it is to find the right 'fit' for a job. 

“Yes, of course, but I want more.” KP said with his hands splayed open in front of him. “I want the presence of a showman. Charisma and charm. The kind of personality that makes a person take the time to listen in, not just have the radio on for background noise.”

“And aside from the world, what else do you want?”

“A knowledge of music; styles, performers. That kind of thing.”

“None of the applicants had any of that?”

KP looked up at Charlotte with pleading eyes. “They were all so boring! No personality at all. None of them wanted to work on location. One had a monotone voice; I found myself dozing off while they were talking.”

“Sounds like that one oughta work at a sleep center, not a radio station.” Charlotte shook her head at his predicament. “I know what you're going through, KP. I want staff that'll work nights, weekends and major holidays without complaint or hangovers. But you know you don't always get what you want.”

KP raised his cup, “The gospel, according to Richards and Jagger.”

Charlotte raised her own, “Blessed be to The Rolling Stones.”

“So, how've you been? Busy with work?” KP asked, then waved a hand at Ruby, who was in the kitchen talking to Linguini.

Charlotte shook her head. “Not with it raining two straight days. Business has been slow.”

“So slow that she's been shopping online!” Ruby called from the kitchen.

Charlotte whipped around and whispered “Go away!” to her grandaughter. Ruby shook her head and grinned.

“For something special?” KP asked.

Charlotte affected a casual attitude with many 'mehs' and nonchalant shrugging. “You know, for Thanksgiving...with your family.” Then she thrust her hands deep into her sweaters' pockets and stared at the floor. 

“They're gonna love you just as you are.” KP looked at Charlotte until her gaze met his. “Like I...” 

A squack and screech came from Emmas' radio, interrupting the scene and piercing ears. She scrambled to grab the radio, pay her bill and skedaddle before Charlotte could kill her with a dirty look.

“Repeat that, Graham.” Emma asked, tossing a couple of ones on the bar and exiting into the rain.

“Guess that's my cue.” KP stated, unsaid words hanging between himself and Charlotte. “Radio station to run.”

Charlotte nodded. “Yeah. Me and a restaurant.” She gestured around to a nearly empty dining room.

“Please come to my place.” KP said in a rush.

“I am, for Thanksgiving.” 

“Before then. Like tonight, when you get off.”

(A muffled snerk came from the kitchen.) 

“Okay.” Charlotte agreed.

“Alright. I'll, uh, see you later then.”

Charlotte watched KP leave the warmth of the diner and into a drizzle. Ruby, who had been eavesdropping from the kitchen, spoke up.

“Did you forget that you're the owner? Your shift ends when you say so!” She waved at the exit and the man walking in the rain.

Charlotte dashed as fast as she could in orthopedic non-skid oxfords out the door and onto the sidewalk. From Rubys' vantage point she could see her granny—her Granny!--catch up to KP and stop him by placing her hand on his arm. Ruby watched a silent scene play out under a buildings' awning. Granny said something to KP, who was an arms' length away. He answered, looking as if he were choosing the words carefully. Charlotte hung on every word that Ruby wished she could hear. After a moment that passed like a lifetime, Charlotte responded, nodded and closed the distance between herself and KP. They stood there in each others' embrace, trembling from the cold November rain and feelings held too long in secret, now out in the open. 

“In the fucking rain.” Ruby sighed, shook her head and smiled, “Like a godamned movie.”

 

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


	10. Poison and Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to turn ugly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a month or so since I've posted and I apologize. I'd like to thank everyone who has read my story and left comments; I hope you enjoy the continuing saga of 'PTA.'

Storybrooke PTA: Chapter Ten

 

Poison and Wine  
by: The Civil Wars

You only know what I want you to  
I know everything you don't want me to  
Oh your mouth is poison, your mouth is wine  
You think your dreams are the same as mine

Oh I don't love you but I always will  
Oh I don't love you but I always will  
Oh I don't love you but I always will  
I always will

I wish you'd hold me when I turn my back  
The less I give the more I get back  
Oh your hands can heal, your hands can bruise  
I don't have a choice but I'd still choose you

Oh I don't love you but I always will  
Oh I don't love you but I always will  
Oh I don't love you but I always will  
Oh I don't love you but I always will  
Oh I don't love you but I always will  
Oh I don't love you but I always will  
Oh I don't love you but I always will

I always will  
I always will  
I always will  
I always will  
I always will

 

Malcolm had arisen at six, showered, eaten breakfast, packed a lunch for himself, made his bed and saw that Felix was up, fed and caught the school bus at five til seven. By quarter to eight Malcolm had loaded the dishwasher, switched out the laundry and put away a load of clean towels. The only thing he hadn't done was wake his wife, who had taken to sleeping on the couch rather than share a bed with her husband. Malcolm was about to take his place at the head of the kitchen table with a cup of coffee when Gerri shuffled into the kitchen and gave him a now customary greeting.

“I hate you.” Gerri hissed upon seeing him. 

Malcolm silently raised his coffee cup in greeting. “I would've thought after nearly two weeks you'd have something else to say.”

Gerri pulled a mug from the cabinet and slammed it onto the counter. “You're a tyrant. That's what you are! Do you get a sick thrill from keeping me a prisoner in my own house?”

Malcolm sighed heavily. “I suppose all interventions start this way,” He muttered to himself. “You make it sound like you're being held in a tower.”

“Might as well be, I'm cut off from everything! And what if I need something?”

“Instead of seeing this as prison, look at it as a form of Prozac.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Maybe being at home will force you to face whatever reasons you have for being gone all the time, spending all our money.” Malcolm shook his head, grabbed his suit coat from the kitchen chair and briefcase. “I'm going to work.” Before shrugging on his overcoat, he turned to Gerri. “At the risk of having a lamp launched at my head, I'd like for us to discuss this--us, money and everything--with a professional.” He put his hand on Gerris' shoulder, “I want us to go into family counseling.”

“Anything else, dear warden?” Gerri asked, her words dripping with sarcasm.

“Stop sleeping on the couch.” Malcolm said, his tone serious. “Felix knows we're fighting. He may not hear it, but he sees the effects. Sleep with me tonight.”

“Is somebody horny?” Gerri smiled, seeing a way out of jail. “Hmmm? You want me to wrap around your cock?”

Malcolms' throat went dry at the thought of Gerris' thighs locked around his middle. For a woman in her early forties, her pussy was still tight as Dicks' hatband. Gerri darted the tip of her tongue around her lips; Malcolm stared at her mouth.

“I know what you're looking at.” Gerri sing-songed low. “You know what I can do with this pretty pink tongue. You're remembering what it feels like, flat along your length.”

Malcolms' breath grew shallow at the memory of his last blow job; how many birthdays ago was it? Gerri flipped her long hair over her shoulder, exposing the sweet spot on her neck that Malcolm couldn't resist. She saw how Malcolms' gaze traveled over her features, followed by his fingers. He stopped when he reached her lips, which were drawn back in a hungry snake-like grin. Suddenly Malcolm feared for his penis' safety.

“I'd rather grow hair on my palms than have your teeth anywhere near my dick.” Malcolm proclaimed and walked out, closing the front door behind him before Gerris' coffee cup reached him.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

'Why do I bother?' Malcolm asked himself as he pulled out of his driveway and onto Mullberry Street. 'Why do I bother? What's so terrible about being with her husband and son?' He was so distracted by his attempt to save his marriage that he didn't see an odd-sized minivan following him. 'Seven years married to that woman.' Malcolm thought to himself at stoplights through town. 'I'm not being barbaric. It's not as if she's chained to the stove.' Malcolm pulled off Mullberry, went straight at Wilhelm Avenue, convincing himself that his train-wreck of a marriage was worth saving. The car shook and rattled, reminding Malcolm of his wifes' spending habits. 'Needed struts months ago. Felix needs to go to the dentist. The boy needs an allowance, he shouldn't work so hard.' He shook his head in frustration, the sound of the car drowning out reasons to continue the farce. The minivan was now three car lengths behind Malcolm, driving almost too carefully. Malcolm didn't notice, he was thinking of a life without struggle, without arguments. Without Gerri. 'It'd be nice to come home to a quiet house and not worry if the power has been shut off or the bank was calling about insufficient funds. Could replace the car. Could take Felix on a fishing trip. No, he'd hate fishing. Maybe a music tour? See where the greats got their start. That he'd love.' But somewhere between dreams of a new vehicle, wondering if Felix would be interested in Theolonius Monk and turning onto the hospitals' employee parking lot, Malcolm had a shuddering realization: if he and Gerri divorced she would take Felix with her. He could see Gerri dragging Felix behind her like carry-on luggage. Good God! The boy didn't share a name with him! That could happen, unless Gerri wanted to make the marriage work. But that takes self sacrifice and effort...both of which were sadly lacking in her genetic makeup. Malcolm pulled into a parking space, put the car in park, shut off the engine and put his head on the steering wheel.

“Why do I bother?” he said aloud in a hollow, hopeless voice.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

“So that's where you work, ya fucker.” Danny said to himself as he watched the man enter the hospital. “Now to make a fuckin' house call.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Hold on, dammit!” Gerri yelled in response to someone leaning on the doorbell and banging on the door at the same time. She swung the door open expecting to see a UPS delivery driver laden with packages. She couldn't have been more surprised.

“Hello fuckwit, it's the ghost of Christmas past!” Danny announced with a manic grin, six inches from her face and brushed past her into the house without an invitation. 

Gerri turned as pale as paper upon seeing the obnoxious loan shark stride into her living room using wall-to-wall gestures.

“The last fuckin' house on the list.” Danny shook his head in mock frustration, “Should've fuckin' tried this address first.”

“How did you find me?” Gerri whispered.

Danny harrumphed, “Finding ma money's a great motivator.” Danny gestured to the furnishings, “Looks like Sears puked in here. What, your old man can't fuckin' afford better? Guess not, since you're spending more than he fuckin' makes. It's a wonder your furniture isn't cinder blocks and two-by-fours.” He settled himself on the sofa and rearranged his crotch. “So, Gerri, where the fuck's ma money?”

Gerri shook her head slowly, as if she were trying to wake from a bad dream. “I don't have it.”

Danny slapped the armrest, causing Gerri to jump. “Color me fuckin' surprised! Somethin' told me you wouldn't.” Then he sat perfectly still, like a snake, which made borrowers more nervous than when he moved like a Mexican Jumping Bean. “But you will, 'cause as I recall, I said when I lent you the money...WHAT DID I FUCKIN' SAY?” 

Gerri jumped and squeaked the terms of the contract. “No favors. No extentions. No reprieves.”

“That's right. No fuckin' reprieves.”

“What about a trade?” Gerri pointed to the seventy-five inch flat-screen television on the wall. “That's worth three grand at least.” 

Danny stood up quickly, as if jerked to his feet by invisible strings and inspected the televison up close. He ran his finger across the screen, then took a step back. “Sound system come with it?” He gestured to speakers on shelves on both sides of the television. That there was a picture of a teen-aged boy on one shelf didn't escape Dannys' attention. 

“Yes. You can have that too, if you want.”

“Want? Like you've got a fuckin' choice in the matter.” Danny pointed to the eight-by-ten of Felix, “Good lookin' kid. He yours?”

“Yes. That's my son.”

“He at school?”

“Yes,” An old, familiar tool came to mind. “Until three. And my husband will be back around six.” Her voice became breathy and low, like a promise made in the dark.

“I saw your dearly fuckin' beloved this morning.”

All thoughts of debasing herself for a debt flew from Gerris' head. “You talked to Malcolm?”

“No, but I know where he works. He didn't look happy. Matter of fact, I think he was crying in the fuckin' car. Fuckin' shame, really. A husband who looks fuckin' miserable, a wife that's trying to live beyond her husbands' means. And this guy,” Danny grabbed Felixs' school picture off the shelf and tapped the glass in the frame, “Caught in the middle. Or trying to avoid being in the fuckin' crossfire.”

“I offered you the television, what else do you want?”

Danny slammed Felixs' picture on the shelf and crossed to Gerri. He shoved his crooked nose in her face and shouted, “I'm not a fuckin' pawnshop, so don't offer me goods! I'm a successful loan shark who doesn't think with his fuckin' dick, so don't offer me your services! I want ma fuckin' money!” Danny took a step back, ran his hands through his hair and rearranged his balls under the blueberry colored suit he was wearing. “All of it, plus interest. By Friday. That gives you four days.”

“What if I can't?”

“Your husband will find out what a fuckin' loser he married, if he hasn't figured it out already. And I'll tell the fuckin' kid, too. He'll know what a miserable loser of a mother you are for spending the milk and bread money at casinos, bars and online shopping.”

“Get out!” Gerri sank onto the floor and sobbed. “Get out!”

Danny knelt down and whispered in Gerris' ear. “Friday afternoon, love. Or I make another fuckin' home visit...and I won't be alone.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-=-

Is this what a heart attack felt like? Gerri wondered as her heart pounded against her rib cage. When Gerri took out the loan she had no intention of paying it back. If Devine went after Malcolm, it would be a pain to listen to her husband whine about the money, but so be it. At the time she wanted bright and shiny things more than she needed air, but now, she wasn't so sure.

Gerri steadied her breath, sat down on the couch and did the math in her head. She owed...two plus four makes six...nearly seven thousand dollars! Her dinner from last night felt like it was crawling up her throat. Jesus fucking Christ, she didn't have that kind of money! From the way Malcolm complained, they were living from hand to mouth! She shook her head in frustration; Malcolm needed to make more money, that's all. 

Malcolm, Gerri thought in disgust, once he meets that greasy little man who pisses on peoples' dreams her husband will explode! Or worse, take away the computer and make her switch to a dumb phone. No access to shopping, no car, no money...I might as well be dead! Which is what I will be if I don't come up with seven thousand dollars by the end of the week! 

She ran up to her room, dumped her purse and counted bills and change. Twenty two dollars. She called the customer service line of her new, yet unused credit card. It had a credit line of seven hundred dollars. In desperation she searched the drawers in her room for “extra money”, in Malcolms' drawer she found ten twenties among mismatched socks. “Holding out on me, are you?” On her side of the dresser, tucked into the back of an old Cosmopolitan magazine under her underwear, Gerri pulled out a wrinkled twenty dollar bill. She ran into Felixs' room and went through his dresser. 

“It has to be here somewhere.” She said to the pile of her sons' underwear. “Godammit, where are you?!” She knew it had to be in the boys' room someplace. Gerri looked under the bed, between the mattress and box springs of his bed, and rifled the rest of the drawers. Nothing. Not even change. Practically feeling the pressure of Devines' thugs hands around her throat, she sat on the floor and wept. 

Why is the world against me? Gerri wondered and threw one of her boys' shoes into the open closet. It made contact with something, making a 'ching!' sound. Like it hit glass? Or knocking over a pile of coins?

Gerri crawled to the closet and felt around. Dust bunnies, the odd sock, an old pair of underwear. Then the glass rim of a jar. She pulled it out and stared in wonder and relief at a Mason jar packed nearly full of greenbacks and assorted change. Gerri quickly turned it over and organized bills like a croupier does cards. A stack of wrinkled ones as tall as her index finger is long, a few twenties and shorter piles of fives and tens. By the time she was done counting the paper, it equaled two hundred forty-three dollars. And she hadn't stared on the loose change yet! She wondered for a moment why the boy would have this kind of money, then she vaguely recalled a time when he tried to tell her something about music. When she tried to remember, his voice sounded tinny, as if the boy were speaking over a bad land line connection. 

Gerri looked at the clock on the bedside table; eleven thirty. She stood, put the money back into the jar and went to her room, where she uncerimoniously stuffed the money into her Gucci shoulder bag that could double as carry-on luggage. “This should be enough.” A smart person would have told the loan shark they had a little over a grand right now to hand over. But Gerri wasn't smart, she was cunning; a completely different animal. And if she could get what she wanted without having to face the unpleasant consequences, she would. 

Gerri didn't look back as she walked to the Greyhound Bus Stop.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Where's your mom?” Malcolm asked Felix, who was snacking on microwavable mac and cheese by the kitchen sink.

“Dunno.” He said between bites.

“You haven't seen her since you got home?”

Felix shook his head. Malcolm noticed that Felixs' backpack was still by the front door, which meant the teen had been camped in front of the fridge since he got home from school. Malcolm went upstairs to his room and was met with an ice-water shock: dresser and bureau drawers opened and up-ended as if by robbers.

Malcolm crossed the hall quiet as a whisper, stepping carefully to not cause his shoes to squeak lest someone hear him. A someone that could still be in the house, lurking like a spider. 'I don't have a weapon.' Malcolm thought to himself. 'In movies when the hero wants to sneak up on an intruder, there's always a convenient lamp or vase in the hallway to smash upside the bad guys' head. We don't even have pictures in the hall!' He pushed the door to Felixs' bedroom wider until it almost bumped against the wall. 'At least there's nobody behind the door,' Malcolm sighed and entered the room.

“Whatcha doin'?” Felix asked around a mouthful of ham sandwich as Malcolm jumped like a cat in a cartoon. “What happened in here?”

Malcolm held his hand against his chest, as if pushing his pounding heart back in its place. “Same that happened in mine.” 

“Shit!” Felix exclaimed and surveyed the damage.

“Was the front door locked when you got home?”

Felix chewed, thought and swallowed. “No. I don't think so. You think we got robbed?”

“Possible. And we don't know where your mom is.” Malcolm pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Gerris' number. A cheerful voice over greeted him saying that her voicemail was full. “Shit.” His fingers flew across the keyboard, 'I know you're pissed, but let me know if you're okay.' 

After a few tense minutes Felix asked, “Anything?” 

Malcolm shook his head. Then he looked around the bedroom, seeing what he hadn't before; some of his wifes' clothes were missing, as was her expensive jewelry. Almost reluctantly he entered the bathroom across the hall and surveyed; her toothbrush was gone. 

“Fuck!” Malcolm whispered to himself. He looked at his step-son, who hadn't left his side since leaving the master bedroom. Malcolm went down the hall to Felixs' room, “You'd better see if anythings' missing.”

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Mary Margaret stopped the lanky teen on his way to lunch. “Felix, I noticed you didn't turn in your Language Arts homework.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He huffed and pushed past her. 

“Stop right there, young man!” Mary Margaret called out and caught up with Felix who was finding the floor fascinating. “I'll tolerate teenage moodiness, but not rudeness.” 

Felix rolled his eyes and wanted to tell the whole world to fuck off.

Mary Margaret frowned thoughtfully, “There's something wrong, isn't there?” 

You don't know how right you are, thought Felix. 

“Is it the LA work? I know it's been giving you fits. I can tutor you after school if you'd like, or find one for you.” 

Felix exhaled heavily through his nostrils.

“If you're bothered by anything—school, home,” Mary Margaret said, noticing Felixs' jaw clench, “you can tell me, or a male teacher if you'd rather. Vice Principal Kronk is an excellent listener, when he's not trying to feed people.” She smiled at the boy, who remained silent as a clam. 

“Can I go to lunch now?” Felix looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes. Mary Margaret nodded and was about to take her place in the lunchroom for her turn as monitor when she heard a womans' voice beside her.

“Children at this age are so sullen.” 

Mary Margaret turned to see Zelena looming over her like an Amazon in an emerald green sleeveless dress with a deep V-neck that begged the question 'how much boob is too much boob at work?' 

“It's the hormones,” Mary Margaret replied quickly. “Ms. Forrest.”

“Everyone is so quick to blame biology when our choices,” Zelena narrowed her pale blue eyes at Mary Margaret, “steer our attitudes and behaviors just as much.” The inference wasn't lost on the pixie-haired woman. “And it's Doctor Forrest. Let's not forget dearest, I'm the only staff member with a doctorate.”

“Yes, well...” Mary Margaret stammered, wishing the woman with an alphabet soup behind her name would leave her alone, “If you'll excuse me, I have lunch duty.” She was about to cross the threshold into the lunch room when Zelena blocked her way.

“Speaking of choices, when are you and Mr. Nolan getting married? I assume you are, or has his divorce not gone through yet? Unless he's gone back to his wife.” There was a glint in her eyes that made Mary Margaret wonder if the woman enjoyed tearing wings off flies.

“I'd prefer to not discuss my personal life at work.” Mary Margaret said, quickly throwing up a wall.

“I wouldn't blame you,” Zelena smiled like a cat cornering a mouse, “Ever since the Kathryn episode last year.”

“Do you have something school related to discuss?” Mary Margaret mustered her courage, “Because if not, I'm going.” She darted past the principal, wrapped her pale pink cardigan around herself like armor and took a sentry post as far from the woman as possible. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==

On the far side of the cafeteria three heads were bent over lunch trays in conspiratorial whispers and bursts of laughter. 

“Seriously! I'm the 'mugger' and the old ladies have to defend themselves against me.” Roland explained to the disbelieving diners. “I don't know which is worse, trying to act mean and tough to these old ladies or them pinching my cheeks and giving me cookies when class is over!” He buried his face in his hands as milk dribbled down Henrys' chin. “Don't laugh, man. You're killing my self-confidence.” 

“You're such a good boy!” Henry said in a 'grandma' voice.

Roland shook a chicken nugget in Henrys' direction. “If I wasn't so hungry I'd throw this at you. Instead, I'll take one of yours as punishment.” He said and liberated a nugget from Henrys' tray. “You believe this guy?” Roland asked Neal, who was pushing corn around his tray with a spork. “Hello, earth to Neal?”

Neal looked up from the tasteless grain and drew a heavy sigh. “Sorry. I'm still pissed.”

“Have they found out how it happened?” Henry asked and stole a sugar cookie from Rolands' tray.

“Mrs. Miner thinks it might've been a glitch in the system.”

“Can you enter it again?” Roland asked, hopeful.

“No. It's past the deadline.”

“Will there be another one later?” Henry wondered.

“Not until the spring.” Neal pushed his tray away, too distracted by worry and sorrow to eat. “Mrs. Miners' just as upset as I am. Probably more. You know somebody's been destroying students' projects outside the art room?”

Henry and Rolands' eyes grew wide.

“Da fuk?” Roland whispered, “Whose been doin' what?!”

“How long has that been going on?” Henry asked.

“For a while now. The teachers have tried to keep it hush-hush, but you know how people talk.”

“Next thing you'll say is that his,” Roland motioned to Henry and took another nugget off his tray, “mom is an evil queen and my Dad is Robin Hood. Or that there's an end to the Internet! This is unreal!”

“Do they have any suspects?” Henry channeled Emma. “Any witnesses or evidence?”

“Nothing. Not even a rumor.” Neal stood and grabbed his tray, “I'll be right back, I'm not hungry.” Henry and Roland watched their friend stand in line at the garbage cans to throw his uneaten lunch away. 

“That sucks for him.” Roland said while fishing in his pockets. “You got any change? I wanna get a Snickers, all I have is this.” Roland held up a wadded-up one dollar bill.

Henry brought out a handful of quarters. “If they have peanut butter cookies, get me some.” He said to Roland as he went across the cafeteria to the vending machines. 

“Hey!” Roland called to Henry on his way to the junk food, “Nice pic of your Mom pardoning the turkey!” 

When Henry turned back around, he saw Felix Dandridges' fist flying toward his face.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-==-=-=

Now he knew how the camel felt. Felix had straw after straw piling up on him since his mom took off with his money. He didn't know which hurt more, his mom abandoning he and his step-dad (which could be worse, at least he knew Malcolm) or taking his hard-earned cash. Felix felt pulled in two different directions, like the first kill scene in 'Jaws'. 

Sunday night he tore his room apart to make sure the concert money wasn't somewhere else first. Didn't want to think badly of his mom, who had been leaning out the door for years now. When it wasn't anywhere to be found, Felix first threw his bedside lamp across the room, smashing it against the wall. He flipped his mattress off the box spring, ripped curtains off rods until the windows looked like gaping wounds. Felix ripped a drawer from his bureau and kicked it until all that remained in one piece was the metal reinforcement for the dove-tail construction. When he was done, Felixs' room looked like footage from a natural disaster. He wanted to rip and shred and hope that somehow his mom would feel the pain.

Felix didn't ask for much. Concert tickets to Black Hook. A passing grade in Language Arts, even if it is a D. For his parents to not fight. 

God, it'd be great to not see the Fight of the Century once a week. 

For his parents to like each other. Do parents do that? Henry Mills' mom and mom seemed to. And if they fight, it doesn't seem to rub off on him, lucky bastard. He probably doesn't live with earbuds in. Bet he never feels like he has to beg like a dog for his moms' attention. Bet he could leave his allowance on the kitchen table and nobody'd touch it, stupid fucker. Little prick gets it all: a peaceful home life, parents he can trust, an A in Language Arts and probably money to boot. 

The longer Felix sat staring across the lunch room at Henry Mills, the more the resentment and anger built up like steam until it propelled Felix like a locomotive across the cafeteria. He stopped in front of the boy with the perfect life, balled up his fist and let it fly toward Henry Mills' nose. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Years of playing dodgeball in gym class had prepared Henry to move quickly when items fly toward you. He ducked and weaved, causing Felix to lunge forward like a toddler off balance. In his need to obey 'fight or flight', Henry jumped out of his seat, falling into a group of three kids behind him. Their lunches went flying, lettuce rained down like confetti at a parade. Felix climbed over the table throwing wild punches at Henry, some connecting to the smaller boys' side. Henry frantically tried to recall defense moves from videos, but could only remember Cinema Sins. He blocked Felix with chairs, somebodys' backpack and threw a couple of punches himself; the pain vibrated up his arm...why doesn't anyone talk about the pain in those videos? 

From across the cafeteria, Mary Margaret saw a hyena circle forming and students standing on chairs to see what was in its center. She pushed her way to the middle of the crowd and to her surprise saw Henry Mills and Felix Dandridge slugging it out. 

“Stop this!” Mary Margaret screamed as Henry threw a haymaker at Felix and by some stroke of sheer, dumb luck connected with the taller boys' chest. She pulled a whistle from her pocket and blew into it, a shrill sound cutting into the air. Chants of “Fight! Fight!” died away and the students stepped away from each other as they realized that authority was in their midst. Mary Margaret knew this wasn't the time or place for an interrogation, so she pointed to the cafeteria doors. “Office. Now.” 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Three cars were driven onto the Middle School parking lot; a sheriff department cruiser arrived first, gaining air time when the driver bounced through the dip in the driveway, looking like the cover of a classic '70's album and was parked caddywhompus in two side-by-side spaces. A Mercedes arrived next, its driver observing the rules of the road, stopping completely at intersections and using her turn signals before stopping in a visitors' parking space by the entrance. The third car announced its arrival with rattling and clunking, as if a hammer were being struck repeatedly against a hard surface. This driver, a man, selected a spot on the far end of the lot behind a light pole, as if trying to hide from the “cool” cars.

Emma held the door for Regina and the two women watched the man approach; his posture was slouched, as if under the pressure of one more damned thing to deal with.

Three parents signed in at the office and took seats in the waiting area. The ladies sat together and the man as far away from them as possible. All three looked confused as to why they were there. The principals' office door opened and a leggy redhead stood in the doorway.

“Thank you for coming so promptly.” Zelena said, “Please, come in.”

The door wasn't closed all the way before Emma started. “You said there was an 'incident' with Henry. Where is he?”

“What happened to Felix?” Malcolm asked.

Zelena leaned forward in her chair and peered over her tented fingertips. “Yes, sad to say,” she began slowly, “your sons Felix and Henry...”

“We know their names, get on with it!” Emma barked.

Zelena huffed, insulted that her big build-up was brought to a screeching halt.

“They were brawling in the lunchroom.”

Two mouths hung open in disbelief.

“My Henry?” Regina asked. “Surely you're mistaken.”

“No Madam Mayor, your son was involved in a fight with another student.” Zelena looked from Regina to Emma and back again. “He used to be such a well behaved, quiet boy, but changes come with the company you keep...” 

Emma gritted her teeth and remembered a meme about patience and witnesses. Regina rubbed Emmas' arm and the blond settled into her chair. 

“Where's Henry now?” Regina asked.

“Both boys are in the nurses' office. They should be along shortly.” Zelena said.

Reginas' face turned pale as visions of bandages bounced through her head.

“I want to know how it started, what led up to the fight.” Emma demanded. “Who threw the first punch?”

“I don't see how that's relevant. A fight broke out and they're both being punished.” 

“It'll determine how much punishment the boys get at home,” Emma turned and addressed Malcolm, “Wouldn't you agree, Mister...I know you. Why do I know you?” She whispered to Malcolm, who didn't wish to be recognized. “You're on the PTA! You're one of those fuckers who signed the letter!”

Malcolm wanted to die. He wanted to curl up under the floorboards and die. The last twenty-four hours had been a personal hell. First Gerri took off to parts unknown with Felixs' concert money; then Felix destroyed his room and it took Malcolm half the night to calm the boy down. By the time Malcolm crawled alone into his bed he didn't know whether to cry from loss or sing “Thank God And Greyhound She's Gone.” The cherry on top of the shit sundae was his car threatened to gasp its last on the way over to the school.

Zelena hid a grin behind her hands as she watched Malcolm wriggle like a worm on a hook. 

“Please, Emma, not now.” Regina pleaded.

Emma was prepared to stand her ground when there was a knock at the door. 

“Enter.” Zelena said. “Ah, Ms. Blanchard.” 

Mary Margaret entered the office with two boys behind her. Henry was worse for wear with a black eye and some fast-forming bruises around his mouth. Felix had a swollen lip and held an ice pack on his ear. Both boys had scuffed and scratched knuckles. Parents tried to inspect the injuries and were shooed away by the embarassed teens. 

“Doesn't look as bad as I thought it would.” Emma observed. “Why do you have lettuce in your hair?”

“I don't wanna talk about it.” Henry responded.

“Felix...” Malcolm began, suspecting how it happened. Felix looked away with bloodshot eyes and wiped his snotty nose on his shirtsleeve.

“I'm greatly disappointed in both of you.” Zelena shook her head slowly. 

“Were either of you there when it happened?” Emma asked. 

“I broke up the fight.” Mary Margaret offered.

“Did you see anything? How it started?” Emma said. The onlookers expected Emma to pull out a pad and pen and take notes for a report.

“No. I was,” Mary Margaret glanced at Zelena and back at Emma, “delayed going to lunchroom duty.”

“Why?” Emma asked.

Mary Margaret stammered under the womans' interrogation. “School business.”

“Did other students see how it happened?” Regina asked and Emma blew a small raspberry. “What does that mean?” She asked Emma.

“Nobody's gonna snitch. The only ones who know,” Emmas' gaze went to the two bloodied boys, “are you two. Well?”

The boys looked out the window, up at the ceiling or the tops of their shoes, anywhere but at their parents. 

“We're gonna find out eventually, so you may as well tell us now who started it and save yourselves from extra punishment at home.”

“It was a schoolyard scuffle, not a bank robbery!” Regina hissed. 

“Another good reason,” Emma turned to her partner, “for Henry to take self-defense lessons. To prevent this,” Emma pointed at Henrys' technicolor bruises, “from happening again.”

“Or to make it worse, God forbid!” Regina cautioned. 

Zelena wanted to squeal with delight. All was not well on the island of Lesbos.

“Ladies, if you please.” Zelena interrupted, “The school policy is clear. If a student fights at school or on school property the punishment is three days detention.”

“Whatever.” Felix muttered.

“So, the boys will serve their sentence,” Zelena announced, “starting tomorrow after school.”

Henrys' lip hurt too much to complain aloud.

“And Ms. Blanchard will supervise.” Zelena finished.

Mary Margaret wanted to cry out in protest, but not in front of students and parents. 

“The safety of the students was your responsibility. Had you not been distracted by 'school business' you would have been there to prevent the fight from happening.” Reprimanding people was Zelenas' favorite part of the job. Doing it in front of others was extra cookies.

“How long is detention?” Regina asked, resigned to Henrys' fate.

“From three fifteen to five o'clock.” Zelena said.

“Sounds severe.” Emma countered. “An hour and forty-five minutes for a first time?” Regina threw a warning look at Henry as if to say it would be his only time.

“It could be stretched out, say, a four and a half day detention at an hour per day and thirty minutes the last day. Would you prefer that instead?” Zelena said.

“I'll take three days.” Henry said.

“Doesn't matter to me either way.” Felix said, looking at Malcolm. “Can't do anything anyway.”

Zelena smiled, “Then it's settled. Three days detention it is. See you tomorrow, boys.”

Five people shuffled out of the office.   
“Ms. Blanchard, stay behind. I need to speak to you.”

“I have a few things to say myself, Principal Forrest.”

“I was thinking seventy-five minutes of physical activity would do those boys some good. Have them work off their vinegar in the gym.”

“No.”

“No?” Zelena repeated.

 

-=---=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“No?” David said, surprised at Mary Margarets' gumption. “You actually told her no?”

Mary Margaret was draining pasta in the apartments' sink as David pulled meat off a rotisserie chicken.

“And a whole lot more.” Mary Margaret said, shaking the colander a little too vigorously.

“Like what? Hey, take it easy with that, I don't want to eat mush.”

Mary Margaret noticed some pasta had been flung from the strainer into the sink and onto the countertop. “I told her that I'm an educator, not a drill sergeant. If I'm to supervise their detention—which I called bullshit on her making me late in the first place—it's going to be my detention.”

“What did she say?” David asked and dropped the chicken into a large serving bowl, along with black olives, croutons and walnuts.

“Something smarmy about the boys watching a documentary narrated by Morgan Freeman and taking long naps.”

“So, what do you have in mind?”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“I don't want to go.” Felix complained at home that night. “It sucks.”

“That's why it's called punishment.” Malcolm retorted, “Eat your oatmeal.”

“My jaw hurts.” Felix rubbed at a sore spot on his face where Henry had connected.

“You're lucky it isn't worse. Are any of your teeth loose?”

Felix ran his tongue around his mouth, checking for wiggling teeth. “No.”

Malcolm checked his text messages for the hundreth time that day. He wanted to let Gerri know how her son was, but wondered why. She hadn't returned for anything and he realized she was hardly there anyway, even in spirit. Malcolm was grateful Felix hadn't asked about Gerris' whereabouts, he wouldn't know what to say to the boy. Instead, Malcolm kept up the conversation over an easy to chew meal of oatmeal and scrambled eggs. 

“Did you take Tylenol when you got home?”

“No. The school nurse gave me some. You gonna ask if I started it?”

“Did you?”

The boys' silence was all the admission needed.

“Because of your mom?” Malcolm asked and Felix nodded slowly. Malcolm ran his hand through Felixs' hair and the boy winced. “What?”

“I got hit on the top of the head.

“With what? His fist?”

“A lunch tray, I think.”

“You shouldn't have done that, you know. From now on if you're upset about something, call me or go to the school counselor.”

“I know. I know. I'm sorry.”

“I'm not the one you need to say that to.”

“I know.” Felix took a deep breath and spoke like he was releasing bile. “I worked so hard for that concert money and now it's gone and I can't do anything about it and I'm gonna miss Black Hook and...I got so pissed. I wanted somebody else to hurt.”

Malcolm remembered how he felt the day he signed the letter. “I know.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“I don't see why I have to go, I was defending myself!” Henry objected for the twentieth time since coming home. “Blanket punishments suck!”

“You need something for swelling.” Regina said, filling a freezer bag with ice and handing it to her little boy. “I don't want you to go either, but you can't fight City Hall.”

“Mom, you are City Hall.” Henry realized, “Can't you do something about it?”

“I'm sure you'd love to see your mom charging in,” Emma said, “but sometimes it's better to take your lumps and be done with it.” 

“The only justice is that that boy,” Regina said with disgust, “will be there too.”

“Yay me.” 

A text notification dinged from Reginas' phone, breaking the silence that had fallen on the little family.

“Who was that?” Emma asked.

“Eudora.” Regina replied after checking the text message. “She wants to know if we can come in for fitting and discuss payment this week. I'm telling her we'll have to meet with she and Jefferson, who says 'Hello Slugger!', next week.”

“Right. Because of this,” Emma gestured to Henry, who was trying to eat a squishy snack of yogurt and small bites of mashed bananna, “our schedules are booked in the evenings.”

“I have meetings after work for the next two days that will last until seven o'clock, at the least. Can you pick up Henry? I'll pick him up Friday afternoon.”

Emma nodded, “Sure, I get off at five the next couple of days, but Friday I'm working late. Text me if anything changes. No, call me instead. I like to hear your voice.” Regina smiled softly at Emma and leaned over for a kiss.

From the end of the kitchen table, Henry spoke up. “You two make me want to throw up.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Stop looking like you've entered a House of Horror. You two see this classroom every day.” Mary Margaret said and gestured to a worktable near the blackboard. The boys took seats as far away from each other as they could and still be considered sitting at the same table. She leaned on her desk and crossed her arms across her light blue cardigan. “Felix, Henry, you two are going to help each other.”

They looked as if she had ordered them to eat worms.

“Hear me out. Henry, you're failing algebra.” 

Felix sniggered at the boys' pain. 

“And your language arts skills, Felix Dandridge, are sorely lacking. But guess what? Henry's a wiz in that area. And Henry, Felix has been getting straight A's in algebra.”

“You want us to tutor each other?!” Felix asked, dumbfounded. 

“But you're tutoring me already!” Henry pointed out.

Mary Margaret frowned at Henry. “Not anymore. I'm hoping you boys will learn better from a peer than an authority figure.” Felix looked confused. “So,” she dug a quarter from her pocket, “we're going to rely on the laws of probability to decide who goes first.”

Two boys sat gape-mouthed as their teacher positioned the silver coin on her thumb and flicked it into the air.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

A situation can be good or bad, depending upon your outlook. Felix emitted a sigh of frustration and settled in for his portion of torture.

“This sucks and I don't wanna be here.” Felix hissed at Henry as the two boys walked up to the white board.

“Me neither, but if you hadn't started this...” Henry whispered back.

“Boys,” Mary Margaret called out from her desk, “more teaching, less idle conversation.” 

“Fine.” Felix whispered and picked up the erasable marker. “So,” he said and wrote a problem on the board. “You've got to find out what 'x' means.”

To Henry, the question looked as if it had been written in Latin, or text-speak. The more Felix tried to explain algebra, the more confusing it became until Henry was convinced Felix was making it more complicated than it should have been.

“And that's how you find 'x.'” Felix said to Henry and wrote a new problem on the board. He turned and handed the marker to his student, who was thumping his head lightly on the board. “It's not that hard.”

Henry took the marker from Felix and attempted to solve the problem. After a few failed tries, Henry stepped away from the board. 

“Dude, you're doing it wrong.”

Henry groaned aloud. 

“Felix,” Mary Margaret called from her desk, “try constructive criticism.” The boy looked confused. “Build up, don't tear down.” 

Felix wiped the mistakes away and wrote out a new problem. “Try this one.” Henry stepped forward and faced the enemy. After a headache-inducing attempt, Henry sighed and took a step back, confident he had done better.

“Let's try this one.” Felix said and tried again. It was painful to watch Henry wrestle with 'x.' He wondered if he'd look the same when it was his turn to be the student. Henry put the marker down and retreated from the board, his shoulders slumped and mouth turned into a frown. 

“Defeated by a lower-case letter.” Henry said, resigned to settle for a failing grade. He looked at the clock over Ms. Blanchards' desk, only ten torturous minutes had passed. He wondered if crying would make the time go faster.

“You look like this is knocking the crap out of you.” Felix said.

“Well, you'd know what that looks like.” Henry retorted. 

“Yeah, well.” Felix hemmed and hawed and dug his hands into his jeans pockets. “What's so hard about this?”

“I don't know!”

Felix took a step back from the board and studied the problem. “Dude, you skipped a step here,” he pointed to the board, “and down here too.”

“I just want it overwith.”

“Well, you gotta slow down and do every step or you'll make one mistake after another.”

Henry grumbled at the helpful hints.

“Miss Blanchard,” Felix called across the room, “I don't know what to do with him.”

Mary Margaret turned to the boys. “Try getting into each others' heads.” Both boys stared at their teacher. Mary Margaret thought she heard an audible 'huh?' “Understand how the student thinks, then mold the lesson to their way of thinking.” 

Felix stared at Henry, who shrugged in response. 

“You'll figure it out.” Mary Margaret said, returning to her desk. “Talk to each other.”

“I'd rather give up music than talk to you, Mills.” Felix said once Miss Blanchard was out of earshot.

“But you don't mind trying to pummel me.” Henry responded.

“You took 'em like a punching bag.” Felix poked.

“Put in a few good shots too.” Henry poked back.

The boys squared off, fists were clenched when the staring contest was interrupted. “You know I can hear everything you're saying?” Mary Margaret said and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “The reason you're here instead of running laps in the gym is I was hoping you two knuckleheads would learn something.”

“Don't we do enough of that at school?” Felix asked, thinking of all the jobs he was missing.

Mary Margaret rubbed her eyes and thought, not for the first time, if the struggle of being a teacher was worth the effort. “I hope you never stop learning. That's what this detention is, a learning moment. Felix, ask Henry questions. Henry, you do the same. If the two of you had talked instead of punched, you wouldn't be here. Now, get back to work.”

For a minute the boys were silent, then Henry broke it with a heavy sigh. “I hate algebra. I wish it was more like reading.”

“Like that, huh?” Felix asked, an idea forming. 

“Yeah.”

“You're always reading.”

“So?”

Felix tapped the white board with the marker cap. “That's how you have to look at it.”

“Look at it, what?” 

“The questions. Think of the problems as stories. You have to figure out the endings.”

Henry cocked his head to one side in confusion.

“To get to the end of a book, you have to read every sentence, right?”

“Yeah. That usually helps.”

“So if you skipped a couple of sentences, or a whole paragraph, the story wouldn't make sense. Am I right?”

“I think I know where you're going with this.”

Felix wiped the board clean and wrote a new problem in the old ones' place. “Try this one. And remember to read every sentence.”

“Okay.” Henry said and sweated his way through the problem for the next five minutes. “I feel like I lifted a house with my brain.” He said and rubbed his eyes from tiredness and not wanting to see Felix grade his work.

“Dude, aside from adding down here wrong,” Felix said, pointing out the mistake, “you did good.”

Mary Margaret smiled a little. Henry smiled a lot. 

“So I don't suck at algebra so much?” He asked.

“Read it like a story. You'll do okay.” Felix wiped the board, “Ready for another one?”

“Bring it on.”

Not every problem was smoothly solved. Some took effort and a bit of cursing under Henrys' breath and out of their teachers' earshot. One or two questions made Henry felt like he was back at square one without knowing the rules of the game. But he was understanding it for the most part; like six out of ten questions. But he was proud of those six.

“Alright boys,” Mary Margaret said, rising from her seat. “Take a bathroom break and then switch teachers.”

A phone vibrated. The sound was coming from his backpack. “Can I get that?”

“I don't usually allow it, but in this case I'll make an exception. Felix, you may check your phone for messages too.”

The boys looked at their phones then returned them to their respective packs. 

“Mom.” Henry said.

“Dad.” Felix gestured to his phone. “Which one?”

“Oh, Emma.”

“So...your step-mom.”

The boys wondered if this was part of the punishment, learning about each other.

“Yeah, almost. Wanted to know if I wanted Shangs' or Grannys' for dinner.”

There was a moment of awkward silence as Felix stepped into a common territory: food. 

“I'd vote for Shangs'. Their egg rolls are the best, even cold.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Whaddya mean, almost?”

“They're not married yet.”

“Which is your real mom?”

“You're not exactly subtle.” Henry pointed out, “They're both my 'real' mom.”

“I mean, which one had you? Gave birth?”

“Neither, I was adopted.”

For a minute, there was almost a peace accord. Felix was looking at Henry as just a kid, just like him, someone who wasn't perfect, someone who struggled with school and had a dish in common. Then he had to mention his perfect fucking life; not only did his moms like each other and him too, but they gave a 'give away' kid a home of his own. 

Mary Margaret returned from the ladies' room and gestured at the clock. “If you're not going to go, then it's time to get back to work.” 

Henry excused himself while Felix said he was 'fine.' Their teacher could tell he was anything but. It was going to be a long hour.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==

“This is stupid.” Felix grumbled and hunched down in his seat. 

“You're the only one here, you're gonna get called on no matter how much you try to hide, so sit up straight and listen.” Henry instructed and wondered how Ms. Blanchard did this every day.

“Whatever.”

“When did you start having problems with language arts?” Henry asked.

“Since day one.”

Henry took Felix seriously. “That was a lot of days ago. Do you have any work on you? Maybe I can see what's giving you problems.”

Felix unzipped his pack and pulled out a pile of papers awaiting a parents' signature. “Here. Knock yourself out.”

“You should wish.” Henry said, looking over Felixs' work. There were as many notes written in red pen as there were incorrect answers on the page. Felix looked at the clock over Ms. Blanchards' desk; fifty minutes of hell to go. “We'll start with spelling, that's easy enough to solve.”

“Yeah, there's programs for that now.” Felix sulked.

“Don't rely on computers to do your thinking.”

“So I guess you won't use a calculator next year in algebra?”

Henry gulped. “I didn't say that. These mistakes are common enough, lots of people make them. I before E, except after C; that kind of thing.”

“Don't see why it matters.” Felix muttered and counted down the minutes until his hour was over.

“Proper spelling and punctuation matters. When it's wrong, it changes the meaning of the whole story.”

“I don't like stories.”

“Fine, articles.”

“Newspapers are for boring adults.”

“Okay, what do you like?” Henry asked, throwing his hands in the air. Felix was silent for a minute, then whispered something. “Come again?” Henry said, leaning in closer.

“Music.”

“Like what genre?”

“Huh?”

“What style of music? Rock, country, jazz, classical?”

“It's rock, kind of.”

“Who are they?” Henry asked, but Felix didn't want to let Henry in. The boy might laugh at his choices. Then Felix would have to defend his likes and want to hit Henry again. “Are you gonna tell me or do I have to guess?” Felix blinked at Henry, “Please don't make me guess, that's a lot of groups.”

“Black Hook.” Felix admitted and expected the axe to fall.

“Never heard of them.” Henry shrugged and Felix had an allergic reaction to Henrys' ignorance.

“What?! They're only the coolest band on the planet with the best songs ever!” Felix blew a raspberry in Henrys' direction. “You live under a rock?”

“No. So you think they hung the moon?” Henry asked and was met with a confused expression on Felixs' face.

“They didn't hang anything, they play guitars, drums, bagpipes and saxaphone.” Felix ticked off the instruments on his fingers. “And spoons, too.”

“Do you know their songs?”

“By heart.” Felix said, “What, you want me to sing one?”

“Please, no. I want you to show me their lyrics; we'll start with spelling and punctuation.”

“I don't get it.”

“You will, I hope.” 

For the next ten minutes Felix used Henrys' phone (with Ms. Blanchards' permission)to look up the words to Black Hooks' greatest hits.

“Just pick one already,” Henry pleaded, “It doesn't have to be your favorite.”

“But they're all great!” Felix sounded like he didn't want to neglect any child.

Henry thought, 'He's as bad with songs as I am with books.'

“Fine, teacher chooses.” Henry said and clicked on a random song link. He took his phone to the white board, “Turn around,” He said to Felix, “I wanna try something.” Felix heard the squeak of marker against the board and Mary Margaret tried not to stare at the experiment. “Okay, you can look now.”

“What did you do to their song?” Felix asked.

“I turned 'Trophy of Regret' into an assignment.”

“You maniac, you butchered it!” 

Henry tossed the marker and eraser to Felix, who looked ready to burst into tears.

“Then fix it.” Henry said, expecting Felix to rush to the board crying 'My babies!'

Mary Margaret understood Felixs' reaction, she felt the same way about Bob Seger.

“First, correct the spelling and capitalization. Then find nouns, pronouns, verbs, adjectives.”

“Monster.”

Henry was unfazed. “After that, we'll work on synonyms, idioms, double entendres.”

Mary Margaret could be silent no longer. “Not in my classroom you won't!”

Felix did a double take at Ms. Blanchards' strong reaction. Henry sniggered, “Some other time, then.” 

Felix spent the next few minutes shaking his head in frustration at Henrys' word choices. 

“It should be rings, not rangs. Rangs is not a word.” He angrily erased the offending word, replacing it with the proper one. “'Weared?'” Felix pointed at the sentence, “What are we, three? It's 'wore.'” Felix sighed with relief when the lyrics described the solemn words of warning from a heartbroken man, not the unintelligible mutterings of a drunkard. “There, good as new.” Felix sighed and stepped away from the board. 

“Took you long enough.” Henry noted.

“I wanted it to be perfect. The way it should be.” 

“And rangs is a word.” Henry said. 

“No it's not.” Felix said in disbelief. 

Mary Margaret saw two cars arrive on the parking lot, putting an end to the 'uhuh/nuhuh' debate. 

“Boys, it's almost time to go, you can pack up your things.”

Coats were donned, backpacks were thrown over shoulders and Mary Margaret escorted the boys to their parents—Deputy Swan and Mr. Dandridge—on the other side of the door. Mary Margaret unlocked the door and was hit by a blast of arctic air. She closed the door behind them, waved goodbye and bundled up against the beginning of another long Maine winter. 

-=-=-=-=-

“So,” David asked that evening, “How did it go?”

“Actually,” Mary Margaret answered while slipping into comfy pajamas. “Not as bad as it could have been.”

“So no fighting?”

“I heard a few barbs being thrown, but nothing got out of hand.”

“Not even...Kung Fu Fighting?” David sang a few notes from the song as Mary Margaret covered her ears.

“You're such a geek!”

“I was afraid you were gonna come home saying you put down a prison riot.”

Mary Margaret sighed, “Make me sound like a warden.”

David leaned in and gave Mary Margaret a long, slow kiss. “Warden Blanchard.” He said when they came up for air, “I like the sound of that. Would you give me a blow job between the bars?”

“We tried that once at the station and were almost caught.”

David smiled at the memory. “We're not at the station now.”

“True.”

“And I have my handcuffs.”

“Why, Inmate Nolan, are you admitting that you committed an infraction?”

“Yes, Warden. What's my punishment?”

A naughty grin grew across Mary Margarets' sweet face, “Solitary confinement?” 

Davids' face fell as Mary Margaret tried to remain stern; solitary confinement involved David being placed in another room (in the case of their studio apartment, the bathroom) listening to Mary Margaret pleasure herself with a vibrator.

“No, please!” David whined. “Torture is against the Geneva Convention!”

“You're getting your laws mixed up, Inmate Nolan. We're not at war.”

“I am with these pants.” David replied, tugging at the front of his jeans.

“I have to frisk you before administering your punishment.” Mary Margaret pointed to a wall in the living/dining/bedroom. “Assume the position.”

David grinned from ear to ear as he practically skipped across the room. “I love assuming the position!” He sang out. His tiny, sweet girlfriend stood behind him and kicked his legs wider. He was wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt; she appreciated the way they clung to Davids' athletic form. Her eyes traveled across his body, paying special attention to Davids' strong legs, back and the curve of his buttocks. 

“Is this it?” David asked, wiggling his butt at her. Breaking character earned him a slap on the rear. Thoughts of making a complaint whooshed out of Davids' mind as she reached up and grabbed a handful of his sun-kissed brown hair, pulling him down to her height.

“Not yet.” Mary Margaret whispered. “You'll feel this in the morning.”

“I hope so.” He moaned softly. 

Mary Margaret ran her hands slowly, carefully down Davids' body. She enjoyed the way the hair on his arms tickled her palms, how his breath hitched as she frisked across his nipples. He rested his head against the wall as she untucked his t-shirt from his jeans and felt around under the material.

“I have to make sure you're not carrying anything dangerous. Like a razor or a sharpened toothbrush.”

“I'm clean.” David promised, his voice just above a whisper.

“Oh, no.” Mary Margaret stood on her tiptoes and growled low in his ear, “I think you're a dirty, dirty boy. One can never be too careful.” She took a step away from David and crouched down around his ankles; Mary Margaret took her sweet time frisking her “prisoner;” running her hands up one of Davids' legs and down the other, her hands squeezing gently as she went. David moaned as Mary Margarets' reach came within inches of his crotch. “What's this?” Mary Margaret peered around David, gazing at the bulge in his pants. “Contraband, perhaps?”

David shook his head, “No, Warden. That's all me.”

Mary Margarets' eyebrow raised a quarter of an inch in doubt. “I'll have to inspect you further while you tell me what rule you broke.”

“Uhhh...” David stared blankly at the wall and tried to think, which was almost impossible as most of his blood rushed from his brain five minutes ago. “It's too terrible to say.”

“Probably because you haven't thought of it yet.” Mary Margaret teased, temporarially breaking character.

“No, Warden Blanchard. You're a lady from the shoes up, and you shouldn't hear such things.”

“If it prevents you from repeating the action, and getting punished again, by all means tell me.”

“I was jerking off in my cell.”

“Is that all? Around here that happens all the time.”

“I wanted my hand to be your pussy.”

“Inmate Nolan, are you trying to shock me?”

“Tellin' the truth, ma'am. You were tight, I spit on my palm first to wet you up. Made you so slick.” David stole a look over his shoulder at Mary Margaret, whose face and neck were turning pink. “Wanted to fuck you so bad.”

“I was wrong about you, Inmate Nolan. You're not a dirty, dirty boy.” Mary Margaret grabbed David by his shirt and dragged him into the bathroom. “You're a filthy beast and I'm going to clean you up. Strip, animal.” Once David broke free from his pants and boxers, he felt relieved but not by much. His cock stood at full attention, begging for touch. “Get in that shower.” Mary Margaret ordered and arranged him to stand facing the showerhead. “Clasp your hands behind your head and don't move unless I tell you.” She turned the water on and allowed herself the pleasure of admiring Davids' naked form while the temperature warmed up. He reminded her of a marble statue. Mary Margaret turned the shower control on and water poured from the shower head. Half of David was getting wet and the other half was covered in goosebumps. 

“Is this my punishment?” David asked. “Getting pruny?”

“That would be too lenient.” Mary Margaret turned the 'hot' control up. “I have something else in mind.” Mary Margaret picked up the bar of Ivory soap that lay in the dish by the sink. “I'm going to wash out your mouth. Rinse away those vile words.”

“I said the truth.”

“For your honesty.” Mary Margaret quickly reached for the temperature controls, switching from a comfortable warm to ice water in an instant. David inhaled sharply, but didn't escape the tub. He tried breathing from the top one-third of his lungs as Mary Margaret fiddled with the soap. “Had enough?” she asked, turning the water off as David took in great, gulping breaths.

Davids' penis, once standing tall and proud, was now retreating into his groin. 

“Not only are you going to eat this soap...” Mary Margaret held the bar in front of his mouth.

“I'd rather eat you.” David growled and trembled from the cold, among other things.

“Your choice, Inmate.” Mary Margaret turned the 'cold' knob again and leaned against the bathroom wall. “I can keep this up all night.”

“So can I,” David said, shaking water from his face. “Until you've had more than enough. You'll never break me.”

“We shall see.” Mary Margaret said, smiling. “Stay there.” Mary Margaret exited the bathroom, leaving David trembling under the water. She left the door open; David strained to hear what she was doing in the other room (hoping she was putting fluffy towels through the dryer) but couldn't hear anything over the chattering of his teeth. Ten minutes later she returned, smiling. Mary Margaret was holding a plate covered with aluminum foil. She sat the plate on the closed toilet lid and turned off the water. She let him stand there naked and soaking wet. His entire form was one big goosebump. “It seems we have come to an impasse. I think I have something that will, in fact, break you.”

“I'm not eating soap.”

She shrugged. “Your choice, Inmate. You can eat this instead.” Mary Margaret removed the foil and showed David another form of torture: fried balogna, eggs and gravy.

David despised Mary Margarets' love of Tom T. Hall music; he emitted a long, sad whine. “I really am gonna feel this tomorrow.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“So,” Roland asked the following day at lunch, “Was it terrible? Did you have to run laps the whole time?”

Henry shook his head and swallowed the tater tot he was chewing. After taking a drink of milk he recounted the previous days' detention. Roland and Neal were dumbstruck.

“If I ever get into trouble, I hope she hands out the punishment.” Roland said.

“One down,” Neal counted on his fingers, “Two to go.”

“Enough bad news.” Henry said.

“Wanna hear some good news instead?” Roland asked, itching to tell. 

“Thanksgiving break is next week!” Neal proclaimed. “Four days of overeating and sleeping in!”

“Exams are being cancelled?” Henry hoped. 

“I'm finally gonna get a phone!” Roland proclaimed and did a victory dance in his seat.

“So the whining worked?” Neal asked. “When are you getting it?”

“This weekend. I can hardly wait to text people!”

“Speaking of this weekend,” Henry said, changing subjects slightly, “We're checking out your Moms' studio Saturday.”

“Cool.” Roland said. 

“Yeah.” Henry nodded, “Gotta do it now, next weekend is out. You know, because of the holiday.”

“Right. You guys travelling?” Roland asked.

Henry shook his head, “Nah, staying put; but my moms don't want to go anywhere or do anything.” He looked over at Neal, who had been drawing in his sketchbook during the conversation. “How about you? Going out of town?”

“My Aunt Lacey and her boyfriend are visiting us for the weekend before they head out west.”

“Where and what for?” Roland asked.

“Las Vegas and she's hoping to become a professional pool player. Hey,” Neal turned the book around and showed the other boys what he had been working on during lunch and for several days prior. “Check this out.”

Roland blew out an appreciative breath while Henry concurred with “cool.”

“Is it for another contest?” Henry asked.

“Aunt Lacey asked me to design a pool-themed tattoo for her.” Neal didn't know whether to duck his head in embarassment or crow from pride. Neals' parents and Mrs. Miner always complimented his work, no matter what he did. But he thought that they had to give glowing praise because they loved him or were getting paid. From his friends, the compliments felt more genuine, more important. Crow, yeah, definitely crow. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Meanwhile on the other side of the lunchroom, Zelena was chipping paint off a doorframe with her long, manicured fingernails. She had been so busy Googling budget meetings, teacher meetings, collaboration days and other bureaucratic bullshit that she hadn't the time to speak with whats'-his-name. She thought to herself that if she was going to become the boys' step-mother, she should take the time to learn his name. Andrew would appreciate it. That thought segued into a memory of Andrew held down on her queen-sized bed by leather straps and rope an inch in diameter. A warm, buzzy feeling grew between her labia as she thought of Andrew in her bed, between her legs. Zelena had to get Andrew back; she looked at whats'-his-name...no, his name is Earl. Alan? Dave? Whatever; once he gets sent to private school, she won't have to worry about remembering. And strode to where he sat. 

“Hello boys.” Zelena greeted the trio in a warm 'you're not in trouble, relax' voice. The boys nodded in greeting, then turned their full attention to their lunches, books or spots on the wall when it became apparent that Principal Forrest wasn't leaving. “I wanted to tell you...” She said to Neal, “How sorry I am about your project.”

“'sokay.” Neal mumbled. 

Zelena leaned at the waist and looked softly at Neal. The dress Zelena wore hugged her ass like a lover and showed the maximum boobage allowed for work. The effect was not lost on Roland, who was staring at her cleavage like it was the promised land.

“Hey, Roland.” Henry shoved his friends' shoulder, hoping to prevent him from drooling. “Grab your tray, come with me.” Henry picked up his own tray and guided Roland to the trash cans by the boys' sleeve. 

“Muhuh.” Roland responded. “What?”

Once the boys were out of earshot, Zelena poured sympathy on sweet and thick. “It's terrible that you weren't able to enter the thing...”

“Contest. And Mrs. Miner said I was entered, officially, but my application was lost. My work was lost too.”

Zelena had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling at the image of his salad statue or whatever it was being fed into the shredder.

“Perhaps it was misplaced by mail carriers.” She smiled and continued, “I looked at the contests' website; if it had a glitch—and websites with inferior designs often do—I'm not surprised your application was lost.” She sighed at the appropriate moment for maximum sympathy. “Dear,” Shit! She was blanking out on his name again. “Dear boy. Don't let this setback prevent you from pursuing your love of art.”

“I won't. I'm working on these.” Neal said, turning the book so she could see the images.

“My goodness,” Zelena exclaimed, her interest as false as her eyelashes. “You certainly love art. But it must rob you of time with your family.”

“Nah.” Neal shook his head in disagreement. “They don't mind. Dad's gotten me almost every art supply off Amazon there is. And Belle...”

“My goodness, is that the time?” Zelena whipped her head up to look at the clock on the wall. “The next time you want to enter a contest, let me know and I'll fill out the paperwork myself. And please, if you need to talk or anything, don't hesitate to stop by my office. Anytime.”

“Kay.” Neal said as Zelena walked away. “That,” Neal said to himself, “was fucking weird.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Zelena spent a few precious minutes after lunch transferring monies from the PTA account to a personal account, then celebrated her plan being put into action by shopping online.

“Let's see what he thinks of a zapping dog collar.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

It was happening tomorrow night, Felix thought as he poked a tater tot with his fork. Black Hook was performing for one night only in Boston and he...godamn his fucking mother. The closer the minute hand on the clock crept toward tomorrow, the darker this shit cloud became. There was no getting away from it during gym, it followed him to lunch and entered Ms. Blanchards' room for detention. 

Felix lost the toss and had to be the student first; his thoughts were so concentrated on missing the concert that he had worked and saved for that he didn't notice Henry standing in front of him with an eraser and marker.

“Okay, you can fix it now.” Henry said, pointing to the white board. 

Felix looked at the assignment. Today the egg-roll loving bookworm butchered 'You Can't Handle This.'

“Pick something else.” Felix waved at the board, “I'm not doing this.”

Henry had looked up the lyrics on the bus ride to school. His pupil liked working with familiar and favorite songs the day before, but now Henry was confused.

“Alright.” Henry wiped the board clean and hoped Felixs' sour mood would disappear as quickly as the ink. He tried again and hoped for the best. “How about this one?”

“You gotta be fuckin' kidding me.” Felix hissed. “'Fair Enough?!' I'll never be able to listen to that song again, never be able to hear the crying guitar solo without thinking of you putting the lyrics through a food processor!”

“Boys, is there a problem?” Mary Margaret looked up from her computer screen where she was entering the days' test scores.

Henry sighed, “First he doesn't want to do this one, now he won't do the other one. I'm running out of ideas, Ms. Blanchard.”

Mary Margaret called the boys over to her desk. Felix looked lost and on the verge of losing his temper. Henry looked like he wanted to help, but didn't know how. She spent a minute or two typing on the keyboard, then settled on a censored version of a song that probably meant nothing to Felix.

“Read this.” She ordered, pointed to the screen and Henry wrote the lyrics on the board. 

“That's not a song. And even if it was, it's beyond fixing.” Felix said.

“Would you rather run laps?” Mary Margaret asked.

Felix gingerly took the marker from his teacher and looked at the lyrics. Gum? Who writes a song about chewing gum? After fixing and identifying pertinent parts of the lyrics, he couldn't decide if the song made sense or not. He also noticed he was growling and grumbling less. So did Henry. Ms. Blanchard allowed herself a small smile at Felixs' change of spirit. 

“Very good, Felix. Care to try another?” Mary Margaret offered.

Felix shrugged, “Yeah, sure.”

Mary Margaret found the song she needed on her own 'Favorites' list and motioned Felix to sit and read. “Are you familiar with Bob Seger?” She wrote the words on the board and turned to give the marker to Felix, but the boy was gone.

“Hey!” Henry called out as Felix dashed out of the room with his teacher and Henry on his heels. They caught up with Felix at the gym; he was running laps around the basketball court. Henry ran out to him and tried to stop him by grabbing Felixs' sleeve. 

“Piss off!” Felix jerked away and ran faster. Henry ran after Felix, a step or two behind, but close to catching him. “I said fuck off!”

“No!” Henry said between deep breath. Without a warm-up the muscles over his ribs were going to clench like a fist. “Why did you run out?”

“Go to hell!” Felix yelled, running faster. “I hate you!”

“You only know me from gym class. You won't fix the song Ms. Blanchard picked out. Why?”

“I hate it!”

“She picked something off an oldies station.”

“How the fuck do you know?”

“I'm subjected to it on long car trips. Why, Felix? What upset you? Why are you mad at me? What did I ever do to you?”

Felix let himself be caught by what he couldn't outrun. Sweat and tears ran down Felixs' face, red from exertion. “You were there.” He said between deep breaths, “That song is too close and you were there and she wasn't. It can't be fixed. She broke it, I'll never see Black Hook and I dunno if I should be glad or not that she's gone.”

Henry didn't know what to say in response to Felixs' emotional explosion. He was just a kid, what could he say? 

When the boys returned to the classroom Ms. Blanchard was erasing 'Still the Same' from the board.


	11. 500 Miles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Growing pains for everyone. Winter weather sucks. Emma in hot pursuit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't do this without the help of my husband/editor. Mike, all I have is 'thank you.'
> 
> Please leave comments and critiques.

500 Miles by Charles S. Reid and Craig M. Reid

When I wake up, well I know I'm gonna be,  
I'm gonna be the man who wakes up next to you  
When I go out, yeah I know I'm gonna be  
I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you  
If I get drunk, well I know I'm gonna be  
I'm gonna be the man who gets drunk next to you  
And if I haver, yeah I know I'm gonna be  
I'm gonna be the man who's havering to you

But I would walk 500 miles  
And I would walk 500 more  
Just to be the man who walks a thousand miles  
To fall down at your door

When I'm working, yes I know I'm gonna be  
I'm gonna be the man who's working hard for you  
And when the money, comes in for the work I do  
I'll pass almost every penny on to you  
When I come home well you know I'm gonna be  
I'm gonna be the man who comes back home to you  
And if I grow old, well I know I'm gonna be  
I'm gonna be the man who's growing old with you

But I would walk 500 miles  
And I would walk 500 more  
Just to be the man who walks a thousand miles  
To fall down at your door

When I'm lonely, well I know I'm gonna be  
I'm gonna be the man who's lonely without you  
And when I'm dreaming, well I know I'm gonna dream  
I'm gonna dream about the time when I'm with you  
When I go out, well I know I'm gonna be  
I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you  
And when I come home, yes I know I'm gonna be  
I'm gonna be the man who comes back home with you  
I'm gonna be the man who's coming home with you

But I would walk 500 miles and I would walk 500 more  
Just to be the man who walks a thousand miles  
To fall down at your door

 

It started spitting snow around two o'clock, by quarter to five Storybrooke resembled a Thomas Kinkade painting. Mary Margaret out the window of her classroom; three cars were on the lot, her own, Principal Forrests' and a van which she assumed belonged to the school district. She saw a car turn into the lot, "Whose parent drives a Mercedes?" she asked.

"Mine." Henry replied and put his coat on.

Felix and Henry put their books into their backpacks and donned heavy winter coats. Since Felixs' admission the day before the air between the boys went from tense to sore; like how you feel after vomiting. Felixs' emotional muscles were tender to the touch. But at least Henry knew what made them hurt.

Mary Margaret noticed her pupils' reaction and decided an afternoon of catching up on homework was punishment enough. 'If Principal Forrest didn't like it,' Mary Margaret thought, 'she can stuff it. And speak of the devil,' she turned from the window to find the woman herself standing in the doorway.

"Well boys," Zelena began, "I hope you've learned something from this experience."

Henry and Felix looked at each other and made noises that sounded like agreement.

"And this experiment of yours, Ms. Blanchard, did it have the outcome you expected? Wanted?"

Mary Margaret looked at her students, "Time will tell." Her need to tell off her boss was interrupted by a groan. She turned to see Felix staring at his phone. "Trouble?" she asked.

"It's nothing." Felix mumbled, shoving the phone into his back pocket. Mary Margaret saw his denial and raised an eyebrow at him. "Fine, my Dads' car broke down. No problem." He slung his backpack on and saw Ms. Blanchards' concern. "I'll walk home."

"It's snowing." Henry objected.

Thank you Captain Obvious." Felix sarcastically said.

"You're gonna be a snowman by the time you get home." Henry pointed out.

"I've worked in worse weather than this."

"When?" Henry wondered.

Felix was going to say it was last year and the job was hanging Christmas lights but the money he earned was now in his moms' purse, in parts unknown, so he shut his mouth.

"Text your dad and tell him I'm giving you a ride home, Felix." Mary Margaret said.

"Don't be ridiculous, Ms. Blanchard, I'm sure the young man is capable of walking in a little snow." Zelena said. Secretly she didn't care if the boy turned into a human freezer pop, as long as students were in the building she couldn't leave, so the sooner they were gone the sooner she could go home.

"I'll be fine! See ya on Monday Ms. Blanchard, Henry." With that, Felix bolted out the door with Henry on his heels.

"You coddle them too much, Ms. Blanchard. You may leave as well." Zelena said, pointing to the snow coming down outside.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Regina had the heat cranked up as high as it could go without drying out ones' sinuses. She saw Henry walking hurriedly to the Mercedes.

"Idiot." he grumbled after closing the passenger side door.

"I hope that wasn't directed at me." Regina replied.

"No." He pointed out the windshield to the sulky-looking teen walking past the car. "He won't take a lift."

"He's walking home?" Regina asked, looking from the blond teen to the snow and back again. "Why?" Henry recounted the reason. "Oh, no he's not." Regina replied firmly and swung open her door as Felix walked past the car. "Felix Dandridge!" she called out. "Young man, stop!"

"Yeah?" He looked up and saw the mayor and remembered she was Henrys' mom.

"Felix, I insist on taking you home." Regina said. "No one should be out in this weather unless it's absolutely necessary."

"It's cool, I'll be alright." Felix objected to Regina, who was shaking her head. "I live about a quarter of a mile from here. Thanks anyway."

Regina held up her hand, halting Felix. "As Mayor I'm responsible for citizens' safety; I would be doing a poor job indeed allowing you to walk home when temperatures are dropping as we speak. I insist on taking you home."

"It's out of the way and you don't have to..." Felix began when Henry popped out of the Mercedes to add to the argument.

"Dude, get in already! It's freezing and we have heated seats!"

Regina looked at Felix as his resistance collapsed. "Can't argue against bun warmers." Felix said as Regina opened the rear passenger side door. "Thanks."

"Will your parents be home by the time we get there?" Regina asked as she carefully pulled from the school parking lot and onto the street.

"Dad's usually home by five-thirty." Felix replied, enjoying the warmth of the heated seat even though it cost him a little pride.

"I thought you said he broke down?" Henry asked.

Felix threw a dirty look at Henry, feeling that the boy had announced to the world how shitty his home life was.

"Is he being towed? Oh, by the way," Regina began. "You'd better text him and tell him you got a ride and with whom. And I'll need your address. If I drive all over guessing where you live, people will think I moonlight for Uber."

Felix told her where he lived then pulled his phone from his pocket. He texted with the speed of youth and a notification 'ding' rang less than a minute later.

"Dad's on his way home. The car was towed to Billys' Garage..."

"That's a good shop. Very trustworthy mechanics." Regina interrupted like she was imparting a secret to life.

"And the shop loaned him a car." Felix sounded surprised. "He should be there about the same time as us."

"Cool." Henry said.

"Very." Regina concurred as she looked into the rear-view mirror and something familiar caught her eye: an oddly shaped van was two cars behind her and driving slowly, almost too casually. At the next intersection she took a right. It followed. She made a left at the next four-way stop sign. The driver also made a left. Reginas' heart rate sped up as the van driver stayed with her. Regina drove like a lost tourist; making turns without signalling, speeding through yellow lights, leaving her turn signal on and turning in the opposite direction, all the while holding the leather-wrapped steering wheel in a vice-like grip. The driver of the van stuck with her, too close for comfort. After taking a shortcut through a narrow one-way side street that could be mistaken for an unplowed alley, Regina breathed a sigh of relief. Her company was gone.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

"Stupid fuckin' woman, where are you headed?" Danny thought aloud as he tailed after the Mercedes. "You been driving in circles for the past fucking fifteen minutes!" Danny felt like he was wearing blocks of ice for shoes and the dress socks he had on were designed to compliment his magenta colored suit, not provide warmth. He put his hand on top of an air vent. "Is this fuckin' thing on?!" Danny screamed at the heater and adjusted knobs and dials. When only a token of warm air burped from the vent, Danny decided to take his anger out on the kid in front of his mother when he caught up with him. The thought of making Gerri cry--if she was capable at all--made him feel warm and fuzzy all over. Except his feet, those were fucking freezing. When Danny looked up fron the heater controls, the Mercedes was gone. Danny spent the next few moments giving the steering wheel a physical and verbal beating.

-=-=-=-=-=-

'Home,' Regina thought, 'I have to go home. Home is the safest place. Emma is there.' She glanced into the rear-view mirror at the boys. "Felix," she called behind her, "We have to make a stop at our house first, if you don't mind."

"I'm cool with it." Felix said, secretly hoping they didn't have to get out of the car for anything, his butt was melting into the leather seat.

Regina tapped the touch screen on the dashboard and brought Emmas' phone number up. The conversation would be over the speakers and she didn't want to alarm the boys, but their safety was paramount. Emma picked up on the second ring.

Emma greeted Regina in a sultry voice, "Madame Mayor, how nice to hear from you."

Henry wanted to crawl into his backpack while Felix sniggered.

"Emma, I'm being followed."

Felixs' laughter died in the air and both boys looked out the back window.

"Where are you now?" Emma went into cop mode; her voice became sharp, cold and detached. Regina found it strangely reassuring.

"Almost home. Or should I go to the station?"

"No, come home. I'm here. What does the car look like? Can you see who's driving it?"

"It's the one that almost ran me off the road, remember?"

"The one you said got shrunk in the dryer?"

Felix piped up, "I think it looks like a giant Twinkie."

"Who is that?" Emma asked and Regina explained. "Hey ya." Emma said to the boy. Felix responded in kind. "Can you see a license plate?"

"No. They've been with me for blocks, but not so close that I can see numbers."

"So they don't car if they've been spotted."

"Is that good or bad?" Regina asked.

"I'm not sure."

-=-=-=-

 

Danny Devine didn't care if he was made, he was afraid of not being paid. So, fuck it, he thought, as he drove in a van with a barely functioning heater. If they see me, they'll know I'm here for a debt. They'll know I'll fuckin' stick with 'em until I get my money. No fuckin' reprieves from Danny Devine. After that, I'll replace the heater in this fuckin' beater. I'll buy thermal, insulated socks that go over my knees and a fuckin' heated ball sack warmer while I'm at it.

-=-=-=-=-=-=

Emma met them as they pulled into the driveway. She was wearing her day-off uniform of dark blue lounge pants, tennis shoes and a gray long-sleeved top. Emma completed her ensemble with a little color: her gold badge in a holder on a lanyard around her neck and her black Glock 22 held straight down along her thigh, Emmas' index finger parallel to the frame. Upon seeing the firearm, Reginas' eyes went wide.

"Is that absolutely necessary?" Regina asked.

"I don't know yet. Where are they?" Emma looked at the cars on the street.

"They were a block or so behind me, but I haven't seen them since I cut down that one-way stretch of Maple Avenue. Did you call for backup?" Regina tapped her fingers nervously on the steering wheel.

"Graham's working a fender-bender and David is breaking up a fight at The Rabbit Hole."

"Wonderful. I wish you had more officers."

"I know, it's worse than Absaroka County." Emma nodded in agreement. "At least they have a dispatcher."

"There it is!" Regina pointed out the window to the Twinkie van that was slowly heading toward them. 

"Call David! Tell him I'm in pursuit on foot!" Emma called behind her as she exploded into a sprint toward the van.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

"Gonna wait me out in your posh house, are ya, ya fuckers?" Danny took a moment to study the neighborhood. It was a far cry from the run-of-the-mill Sears block of split-level homes with yards no biger than a cocktail napkin. This burg was covered with fancy mansions; no false brick fronts to keep up appearances with vinyl on the back. Multi-level homes the size of his apartment building; with triple pane windows, yet. The fuckers that owned these houses had six-figure salaries. You'd have to to be able to afford a neighborhood that boasted a median with fully fuckin' grown trees. "You can't escape the Devine!" Danny yelled at the Mercedes' occupants. "What the fuck is this?" Danny said aloud as he saw a blond haired woman sprinting toward him holding a rectangular object in her hand; what the fuck was that? A tv remote? A smarty phone? A...

"Gun!" Danny screamed and slammed the van into reverse. "Fuuuuuuuuccccccckkkkkk!" He couldn't do a U-turn in the street unless he wanted to pop a steer tire, so Danny was forced to drive backwards down the street, serpentine style until he reached the cross-street. Someone blared their horn at him as he emerged onto the street and nearly hit a pickup that had never seen a farm. Danny flipped them the bird and ground gears until he found second gear. He looked in the rear view mirror, the blond was still approaching at a run. As Danny drove away he released a long breath and gave her a two fingered salute. 'Now to find the fuckin' freeway and get the hell out of this crazy town,' Danny thought as he crept along in tyraffic that seemed to be moving at glacier speeds. "Do people forget from one fuckin' winter to another how to drive in this shit?!"

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Emma cut through yards and zig-zagged between houses to catch up with the driver. He wasn't hard to follow, the van really did look like a giant Twinkie. Emma followed the adage of quickest paths and straight lines; she took a shortcut through a fenced-in yard and spent several precious moments dodging a territorial Dachshund. Emma cleared the fence like an Olympic gymnast but slipped on the uncleared sidewalk, sprawling into the snow with the grace of a Rabbit Hole drunkard. By the time she scrambled to her feet, the van was gone.

-=-=-=-=-=-

"Where do you think she is?" Henry asked and popped another pizza roll into his mouth. He and Felix were at the kitchen table eating whatever could be microwaved while Regina paced. In response to his question, she shook her head. She didn't want to think about her love in danger, she wanted Emma safe in her arms where she belonged. "Mom, did Emma have her phone?"

Regina picked up her own phone and dialed. A phone rang from the living room.

"That answers that question." Felix said as multiple chimes came from the front door. It sounded like someone was leaning on the doorbell.

"Stay here." Regina ordered and smoothed down the hair that she felt was standing on end. Henry followed her. "Young man, I said stay here."

"I wanna help. You shouldn't be alone out there."

Felix snorted at Henry.

"What's so funny?" Henry asked as the doorbell continued ringing.

"Dude, if it's that guy that followed us, then you're no match for him." Felix said, "Remember, I've seen you in gym shorts."

"I resent that." Henry said as his mom left the kitchen.

"Don't you mean resemble?"

"So you have been paying attention during detention." Henry countered, "She's my mom. What would you do if it were your mom?" Henry hung his head low, knowing the words slowly peeled a scab off Felixs' fresh wound.

""After the shit she did to me, I'd draw that guy outside a map."

"I'm sorry." Henry said in a small voice. "Yell at me later, I'm still going."

"Gonna stop with your skinny legs?" Felix jabbed Henry in the shoulder. "I'll go with you so you don't hurt yourself."

They found Regina looking through the sidelight beside the front door, her shoulders no longer over her ears. She slid back the chain, turned the thumb latch and drew back the deadbolt. Henry and Felix picked up the pace as she opened the front door.

"Felix!" Malcolm called to his step-son as he entered the house. Malcolm walked past Regina who was putting the locks back in place. "You send me a text saying to meet you here, that something weird is happening." He drew the boy close to him and Felix groaned in protest.

"Jeez, Dad." Felix complained after he escaped Malcolms' embrace.

Malcolm turned to Regina, "Ms. Mills, what's going on?"

"Come into the kitchen, Mr. Peters and I'll tell you everything I know."

-=-=-=-=-=-

David crept along at a nerve-wracking snails pace toward Emma and Reginas' house after the weird call from Regina. Looking at the houses made him wish even more he and Mary Margaret could move out of their shoe box. He wanted a house with a yard, a garage where he could store their Christmas tree and a lawn mower, once they bought both of those items. He wanted a sidewalk of his own to shovel, even if it took thirty years to pay off. Maybe a tree in the front yard where he could hang a swing for a kid that Mary Margarets' dark hair. David wanted Marmaduke Westelton to choke on his ugly words about the longevity of he and Mary Margarets' relationship.

"Asshole." David said aloud as he came to a slow and complete stop at a four-way intersection and was yanked into the present by witnessing a distracted driver (look who's talking?) slip and slide after applying their brakes too hard on the wet pavement. David shot them a dirty look and waved them through the intersection; the driver probably thought themselves lucky for not getting a ticket. In reality, it was too cold to be out of the car; he didn't want to do more paperwork, plus he was already on a call.

"Why would anybody be out in this if they didn't have to?" David asked himself. "Why live in Maine at all in the winter?" He looked out his window and saw a woman limping down the sidewalk in clothing inappropriate for the weather. Her entire front side was wet. She was hunched over, the long sleeved top was obviously too thin to provide protection from the rising wind. Her blond hair was hanging down around her face. He pulled over and rolled down the passenger side window. "Emma?" David asked the shivering form. "Get in! You trying to freeze to death?"

If Emma had been capable of bending her frozen knees, she would have crawled through the window. Instead she opened the passenger door with some effort from her stiff fingers.

"Heat. I need heat. Now." Emma said and adjusted the air vents to point at her.

"What are you doing out here?" David asked as he put the Ford Explorer in park. "Hold on, I'll get a blanket from the back." Emma sat as close as she could to the vents to capture as much warm air as possible. He got out of the car, pulled off his bulky uniform coat and tossed to Emma. When he returned, he handed Emma a thick cotton blanket and a duffel bag.

"Home." Emma chattered. "So cold." 

"I'm not surprised, given how you're dressed." David scolded. "You're soaked to the bone. Here, let me." David saw how Emma was struggling to grasp the zipper on the bag and opened it with one pull. Inside the bag was a change of casual clothes and a uniform. "Get out of those wet things." David said, "And layer up. Gotta fight the frostbite. You were raised in Boston, I thought you'd know better. Why were you out in this, anyway?"

Red patches were forming on Emmas' feet, calves, face. Her fingernails hurt. Emma threw the duffel bag on the floor and tossed the blanket over her head. "Had to catch a guy." Her explanation was muffled by the blanket, which was twitching spasmodically as she wiggled out of her clothes and into the borrowed sweats.

"You look like a possessed bag of laundry." David observed.

Emma emerged from the cocoon, her hair stuck out in all directions. "He was following Regina and Henry."

"Holy shit!" 

-=-=-=-=

"What the hell?" Malcolm exclaimed after digesting the information Regina had given him. "And your girlfriend..."

"Fiance." Regina corrected All four were in the kitchen sitting around the breakfast table; the boys were drinking hot chocolate and the adults were waiting for a fresh pot of coffee to brew. Regina took two mugs from the cabinet and placed one in front of Malcolm, along with cream from the fridge and a sugar bowl with a spoon.

"Went after them?" Malcolm ran a hand over his short, brown hair. "On foot yet? Where is she now?"

"We don't know." Regina said, her brow knotted with worry.

"And Emma left her phone here so we can't call her." Henry added. "Remembered her gun, though."

Malcolm looked at Regina as she held Henry tight and wondered when was the last time he saw Gerri calm Felix. She saw him staring and Malcolm avoided her gaze by pouring cream into cup.

"Do you want to drive around, look for her?" Malcolm asked. "I'll stay here with the boys."

Regina shook her head. "I need to be here when she comes back." She said 'when' as if there were no other argument; Emma Swan would absolutely return and that was the end of that discussion. Malcolm hung his head low and stared into his coffee cup. "Coffee's ready, Mr. Peters." Regina said and poured the black brew into his cup. Malcolms' stomach seized up and reasons why he put his name to the shame broke apart as easily as the clouds of cream stirring in his mug. 

"I'm sorry." 

Regina placed the carafe onto a pot holder sitting on the table in front of them. "There's no reason to apologize, no one could have foreseen us being followed..."

"Stalked." Felix said, fishing the last marshmallow from his drink. "Or shadowed."

"Good synonym choices." Henry commented.

"That's not what I mean." Malcolm said and pushed away his cup. "I mean the letter. I'm sorry I signed the letter. You didn't deserve that. I was so angry. I saw your happiness with Ms. Swan and I envied it. No. More than that...you and your girl--" Malcolm stopped and corrected himself, "Fiance worked together like a team, like I think a marriage should. You were happy with each other and your kid was happy with you two...if your family had a dog I would've despised you completely. I had no right to shit on that. I can't say 'I'm sorry' enough."

A fraught silence hung between the adults as Regina processed Malcolms' confession. She stood and walked from the table to the kitchen window. Malcolm took that as a cue to leave.

"Felix, get your coat and backpack."

"Okay." Felix quietly replied and finished the last of his hot chocolate. "They're in the living room."

"I'll see you out, gotta lock the door behind you." Henry said as the three made a procession into the living room.

Felix shrugged his coat on and grabbed his backpack by the handle. He watched Malcolm fish car keys from his trouser pocket and don a pair of gloves. Felix wasn't completely oblivious, a teen lost in his own little world of music and hormones, he had been studying his step dad and mother for a long time. He had lived through his parents yelling caustic insults at each other and sharp silences at home and how they made Malcolm stoop and slouch like he had a world on his shoulders. But now, Malcolm looked a little taller, like maybe the world slipped off a bit. Yes, Malcolm had done a shitty thing and maybe there was no going back from that, but like Ms. Blanchard said 'Time will tell.' Until then...

"Uh, Dad, I left my phone in the kitchen."

"Okay. I'm gonna go warm up the car. Meet me out there."

"Right." Felix said and watched Malcolm walk out to the car. "Dude," Felix said to Henry as soon as the door was closed behind Malcolm, "I was an asshole."

"I know."

Maybe youth forgives easier because it doesn't have as many scars. Perhaps a mistake made in ones' adolescence can be forgiven because there's so much potential and pliability.

"Gotta go. Hope your mom comes home soon."

"Me too. Thanks."

"See you Monday." Felix opened the door and stepped onto the front porch. Before closing the door behind him, he left with a parting remark. "Don't hurt anybody with your knobby knees."

-=-=-=-

Marmaduke Westelton decided to take a nap when he came home from work. When he awoke he found Oliver heating canned soup on the stove.

"Dad, do we have more cheese in the deep freeze? I wanna make toasted cheese sandwiches."

"I'll check." Marmaduke offered and went out to the garage. When he saw the foot-long scratches and dings down the passenger side of his car, he wished he could remain asleep forever.

'But that would leave the boys without any parents,' whispered a niggling voice. 'Why do you stay?'

"I love her." Marmaduke said to convince the voice, or was it himself? Some days he couldn't tell.

'Look at this car. If she loved you it wouldn't look like a demolition derby loser. If she loved you...'

Marmaduke leaned his head against the roof of the car and covered his ears like a child trying to block out their parents' scolding.

'You're too tired to leave. Every day is a guessing game. Will she be sober when the boys get home? Will they see her passed out on the couch, a vodka bottle drunk down to the dregs on the end table? Will you have to lie to work about why you can't come in? Do you wonder if one day your boss will give you an ultimatum, your wife or your job? You'd have to admit she's a drunk, then your shame will be seen like a pee stain that can't be bleached out. All the people you've taken your lifes' frustration out on will laugh and laugh at your misery...

"I can work harder, help her more." Marmaduke muttered.

'You're the one that needs help.'

"You got that right."

'Wake up and smell the dried puke, she doesn't love you.

Marmaduke shook his head, unwilling to believe.

'You know you're married to a sponge.'

"Shut up." Marmaduke pleaded. "leave me alone."

"Okay, but the soup's ready."

Marmaduke turned to see Oliver standing in the doorway that joined the garage to the house. "I'm sorry." He glanced over Olivers' shoulder to see Oskar eating soup, trying to fit as many vegetables and chicken chunks on the bowl of the spoon as possible and slopping up the juices with a hunk of bread. He ate like he expected someone to take food away from him. "I didn't hear you."

'Didn't hear him. Won't listen to me.'

-=-=-=-=-=

"Anybody hurt?" David asked over the radio. He pulled into the driveway and parked behind Reginas' Mercedes.

"Just one," Graham responded, "But the tree will survive."

"Cop humor." Emma said, grimacing as she slipped her feet back into wet shoes and opened the car door.

"Lemme help you inside." David offered as Emma gathered her wet clothes for the trip to the front door.

Emma, the image of independence, was too tired to argue. David saw her to the front door and pressed the buzzer.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

"Mom! Mom!" Henry yelled to Regina, who was in the kitchen, pouring out the contents of the guests' cups. "Emma's home!"

Upon hearing her sons' voice, Regina heel-toed it to the living room as Henry opened the door. No sooner was Emma over the threshold, Henry hit her with a barrage of questions.

"Did you catch the perp? Did you have to shoot anybody? Are you gonna lose toes?"

"Henry, please, give Emma some time to defrost and relax, then she'll answer your questions." Regina said, putting an end to the interrogation. She took the wet clothes from Emma and handed them to Henry. "Put these in the wash, please." Regina turned and kissed Emma. "Come into the kitchen, there's a fresh pot of coffee on."

"A trough of coffee is good." Emma said, allowing herself to be led into the kitchen by Regina. Emma flopped into a chair close to the heater vent and kicked off her shoes. Regina took a travel mug from the cabinet and poured a half a pot of coffee into it. David noted the mug was large enough to hold a Pug.

Regina poured him a cup and sat down next to Emma. Henry returned to the kitchen and took a seat across from his moms.

"So, what happened?" Henry asked anxiously.

Emma gave a report beginning with her run for the Twinkie van, continued with being returned home by David and concluded with "I'm tired."

"Then to bed you shall go." Regina said and took Emmas' coffee mug from her. Emma mourned its loss, the warmth felt so good she wanted to dive in head first.

"You're off tomorrow, right?" David asked Emma, who nodded affirmative, then dropped off while sitting up. "Want some help?" He asked Regina.

"Yes, please."

Between the two of them they were able to guide a semiconscious Emma up the stairs to the master bedroom and deposit her under a heavy comforter. Emma was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

"Thank you for everything." Regina said to David as she closed the bedroom door behind her.

"Emma said it was a VW Microbus. Can you remember anything else about the van? Description of the driver? Anything?" David asked Regina, who was trying to forget this afternoon happened. She shook her head.

"I can!" Henry declared and rolled up his long shirt sleeve. There were smeared numbers and letters on his arm written in ink. "Felix wrote it down, but I'm not sure if that's a nine," he pointed to his forearm, "or a sloppy four." David quickly wrote down the information in his notebook."

Impressed, David said, "Tell your friend 'Good work.'" Henry felt proud for Felix even though they weren't friends and Felix had thrown a football at his face, started a fight and landed them in three day detention. "I'll run it through the system and see what comes up. Can't be too many vans like that in the area. Did it really look like a Twinkie?"

-=-=-=-=

"You know I worry about you being a cop." Mary Margaret said in a near whisper. She and David were curled up under the covers on the bed/sofa. He had told Mary Margaret about his co-worker pursuing a subject on foot which sparked Mary Margarets' imagination. She pictured David running after someone who might be dangerous, crazy or both. Darker images involving a flower-filled chapel and people dressed in black appeared, but were banished before they could take root. David held her close.

"I know."

"Please be careful out there."

"I'll always come home to you."

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Emma slept several hours that evening; after taking a warm bath (at the insistence of her beloved) Regina planted Emma on the couch with a soft, fuzzy blanket and strict instructions not to move a muscle for the remainder of the night. After eating a huge, hot roast beef and Swiss cheese sandwich slathered with Emmas' favorite German pub mustard, a mountain of potato chips that threatened to avalanche off the plate, a giant Dill Pickle spear followed with warm Dutch apple pie prepared (Heated, actually, it was a frozen pie) and served by Regina, Emma found herself dozing before the late news was over.

"Alright, you." Regina said from the cushion next to Emma. "Time for bed."

Once inside the master bedroom Regina slipped into a knee-length silk nightgown decorated with embroidered cherry blossoms on a black background; Emma donned a pair of dark blue and white check cotton pajama bottoms and a bright red, loose fitting sleep shirt covered in 'When Harry Met Sally' references.

"You didn't have to fetch and carry for me tonight." Emma said, it sounded like she was apologizing for being out of commission.

"My pleasure." Regina responded and touched Emmas' arms and face. "It's my job to take care of you, and I take my job seriously."

"That's great, but you don't have to tuck me in. I'm not three." Emma gestured at the comforter being bundled around her form until she resembled a burrito. "You don't have to fret over me."

"What if I want to?" Regina continued to aggressively push fabric under and around Emmas' body until she was immobilized by blankets. Her dark brown eyes were welled with tears, "Have you thought about that? Maybe I want to fuss and bother over you. You're only one of two my favorite people in the world and I love you, dammit!" The last sentence was said like it was evidence being presented against Emma in court. Regina stopped tucking and petted Emmas' face, neck and arms as if she were convincing herself that Emma was safe at home with her and not being hurt by the van driver. Tears streamed down Reginas' face, washing away her mask of strength.

"Queenie..." Emma whispered.

"It took so long to find you." Regina stroke Emmas' face with feather-light touches. Emma broke free of the fabric prison and moved as close as she could to Regina; the dark haired woman placed soft, salty kisses upon Emmas' lips, eyelids and cheeks. Regina wound Emmas' blonde hair around her fingers, as she drew Emma in closer she found more places to kiss: earlobes, chin, forehead, she even placed loving kisses on Emmas' tresses. "You're too important to lose."

"I never expected to be important to anybody." Emma admitted the familiar fear and was silenced with a reverent kiss.

Regina continued kissing Emma while she slipped her hands under Emmas' shirt and ran her finger tips over Emmas' hardening nipples. Regina broke contact while Emma moaned.

"Patience, my sweet love." Regina slid off the bed and lifted Emmas' shirt over head and laid it on a nearby chair. She moved back onto the mattress in front of Emma; she reached up and kneaded Emmas' breasts while Emma pushed herself into Reginas' palms. "So sweet, so beautiful." Regina said, watching Emma surrender to the touch; she alternated grazing her nails against Emmas' skin and gently holding Emmas' breasts. Regina pulled her hands away from Emma and they both felt loss. Regina put her fingers inside Emmas' waistband. "Lift up." She said and Emma smiled while wriggling out of her bottoms and institutional underwear.

"I thought we talked about those." Regina scolded and laid back on the bed.

"We did," Emma said semi-sheepishly. "but I'll admit it. I kinda like it when you fuss over me."

"Come here." Regina patted the space beside her. Emma scooted into the spot and laid back; instead of spooning against her love, Regina straddled Emma, stroking and kissing any exposed skin she could reach. Regina slid her hand between their bodies and played with the short, dark blonde hair she found between Emmas' splayed legs. "Emma, can you hear me?" Regina began, watching her loves' eyelids close halfway.

"Mhhhmmm." Emma responded.

"I want to say I love you, but that's not enough."

"Hmmm?" Emma said, opening her eyes.

"Emma, a thousand wonderful things could happen to me throughout my life, but they wouldn't compare to you. Important? Emma, you're my best friend. I love seeing your coffee cup in the cabinet next to mine." Regina sighed in frustration. "Songwriters could say it better than I could. All I have is 'I love you.'"

Emma smiled. "That's all I want."

Regina lowered herself and placed a kiss on each of Emmas' lips and rubbed her cheeks across Emmas' breasts and stomach. The skin-on-skin contact reassured both ladies.

"You're my home." Regina whispered. "And I am yours."

-=-=-=-

The following morning the ladies staggered down the stairs--Emma in the cherry blossom nightgown and Regina in the plaid pants and the t-shirt, making sure to cover the Mr. Zero reference with her robe--and into the kitchen to find Henry stuffing his mouth with marshmallow cereals and sending texts on his phone.

"Hey." Emma mumbled and poured cups of coffee for herself and Regina.

"Hey yourself, Emma." Henry said and poured another serving of sugar-laden cereal into a bowl. "You look like a Walker."

Emma sat at the table next to Henry and sipped her coffee. "Feel like one."

Henry sniffed the air around Emma and scooted his chair away from her. "Smell like one too."

Emma raised her arm and smelled her armpit.

"I'll shower after this." She said, gesturing to the cup. "Plans for today? Homework? Wedding stuff? Anything? Where's my phone? I have to call David." Henry retrieved it from the top of the microwave. "Thanks." She dialed and sipped more coffee while waiting for someone at the station to pick up. "Hey."

"How're you feeling?" David asked.

"Falling into a coma helped."

"Great."

"Any luck tracking that van?"

"Been busy with weather related problems, accidents and such."

"That happens in Maine, especially in the winter."

"And I'm writing job descriptions. I'm sick of running on a skeleton crew."

"We're finally hiring an extra deputy?" 

"And a dispatcher-slash-secretary."

"Where in the budget did we find the money?"

"One thing: we're giving up Fantasia Donuts."

"Boo." Emma whined.

"I know; Graham cried when I told him. And we're exchanging the Keurig for an old-fashioned percolator."

"Anything else?" Emma asked, missing the fancy schmancy coffee pot already.

"We'll have to bring grounds from home or there won't be coffee."

"You go too far, boss. But desperate times and all. Any other sacrifices?"

"I'm cancelling the jails' tab at Grannys'. From now all prisoners will be served bologna."

"Real beef or bits is bits bologna?" Emma asked and took a sip of coffee.

"Real beef is off the budget."

"Gross!" Emma exclaimed and nearly shot coffee out of her nose in disgust. "Is that it?"

"We were scheduled to get a new patrol car, but that's off the table. I want another officer. We'll have to keep the vehicles we have in top shape. One more thing..." David began.

"Yes, Columbo?"

"Ask Henry to double check the license plate with his friend. One of the numbers was smeared."

"Okay, bye." Emma hung up and poured herself a refill. "Hey, kid." 

"I heard. I'll look up his number after breakfast."

Emma downed a second cup in record time and felt more awake with every sip.

"Nobody answered me about plans."

"Well," Regina began, "the original plan was to visit the martial arts studio. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, just tired." Emma said and drank more coffee. "Lemme shower and eat, we can go after lunch."

"Fine, but after it's straight home and bed."

"Only if you join me." Emma reached across the table and took Reginas' hand in her own.

"Did you guys forget I was here?"

-=-=-=-=-=-

"Welcome to the Red Dragon!" Marian said, extending her hand in greeting. "I'm Marian Capuche, head instructor and owner."

Regina had been harboring fears of this for weeks and it was showing on her pinched face. 

"I also sweep up the place." Marian joked, hoping to put the mayor at ease. "So, have a seat," Marian gestured to metal folding chairs near the window, "and tell me why you'd like to learn martial arts."

"Oh, we," Emma gestured at Regina and herself, "aren't interested. It's for our son, Henry." She pointed to the silent boy sitting between them.

"Okay," Marian said and turned her attention to Henry. "Why do you want to study martial arts?"

Henry stared at his moms and Marian for a moment, then Regina spoke up. "I want to say at the outset that I have reservations."

Marian nodded like this wasn't her first rodeo. "Care to talk about it?" She saw Regina squirm in her seat ever so slightly."

Regina nodded in agreement. "I don't mean to denigrate what you do, Ms. Capuche, but I am concerned about Henry learning to be violent."

"No offense taken." Marian shrugged. "Tell me what you're worried about."

Regina opened her mouth and spewed forth her reasons. "That he'll use it on someone else."

"What?" Emma said with a gasp. "The hell Regina! What else have you been thinking?"

"You mean turn into a bully?" Marian interrupted and Regina nodded. "I can assure you Ms. Mills that if a student used the knowledge gained at the Red Dragon to pick on someone else, they'd be out of here faster than they could say 'I was only playing.'"

"One can be expelled from a martial arts school?" Regina asked, taken aback. She looked at Emma, "Did you know that?"

"I'm as new at this as you are." Emma replied.

"Actually," Regina admitted, "That's why we're here. So Henry can protect himself from bullies at school."

Marian nodded and looked at Henry, who was silent and rubbing his face in embarrassment.

"Jeez, Mom. Do you think I'm crazy or something?" Henry said, "Like I'm gonna be stealing lunch money from kindergarteners at the bus stop?"

Marian raised a hand to interrupt. "If I may, Henry? In a way, your mom is right. Sometimes when kids learn martial arts they get a little too big for their britches. They think just because they know a few moves they can handle everything. You pair a swelled head with a bully that wants to put them down," Regina shivered at the image of her son on the floor, bleeding and in pain, "it's a disaster waiting to happen."

Regina looked triumphantly at Emma as if to say 'See? I was right!"

"But at the same time, self defense training gives you the knowledge to handle that situation, God forbid it should happen. And it provides the student with the self-confidence by learning a new skill."

"Like punching and kicking?" Regina said.

"More like not being afraid." Marian turned to Regina, "I'm sure you'd agree Ms. Mills that there's very little worse than being afraid?"

Regina replayed the slow speed chase the day before. A dozen possible scenarios played in her mind: she could've been run off the road, the van driver could have dragged her from the Mercedes, they could have beaten her up as she was taking the boys inside the house or she could have been forced into the house where the driver could take their sweet time beating all three of them to an unrecognizable pulp a'la Jack the Ripper.

"Would you like to see what we do in the class, Ms. Mills?" Marian asked and invited Henry to stand.

"Now?" Henry asked, surprised a free lesson was part of the tour.

"Yes, right now."

For the next few minutes Marian explained that the classes begin with a warm up, then how the students follow the instructors' movements in front of a mirror, then pairing up with a partner to practice and perfect what they learned. Once the speech was finished Marian had Regina, Emma and Henry do a few simple movements; Emma kept up with Marian, Henry broke into a sweat and Regina grinned, picturing the van driver.

"Well," Marian said after handing out bottles of water to the thirsty participants, "What's the verdict?"

Regina dabbed the corners of her mouth with a tissue. Henry gave Regina a pleading look like 'if you do this I'll never ask for another thing...

"Please, Mom!" Henry pleaded as the front door opened and Roland walked in holding a plastic bag labelled 'Storybrooke Cellular.'

"Boris!" Roland called from across the room. "You takin' classes now?" Henry emitted a high-pitched whine and Regina replied with a nod. "Dude! We're gonna be beatin' each other up twice a week now!" Roland exclaimed as he approached his mom. As he showed off his new phone to Henry and Marian, Emma whispered to Regina.

"Maybe we should worry more about head injuries?"

-=-=-=-

After paperwork was signed, a class schedule handed out and the new student received a Red Dragon t-shirt, Henry and Roland huddled together to exchange phone numbers and look at videos on Rolands' new phone.

"You'll have to pry it out of his hands." Regina said to Marian.

"Oh, the phone?" Marian replied. "He'll probably want to sleep with it. And I apologize if I triggered you."

"Excuse me?"

"When I mentioned fear earlier, you looked like you were having a PTSD moment."

"Well..." Regina began, not sure where to go with the subject.

"But you looked better when you were throwing punches." Marian smiled. She wouldn't admit it to a paying customer, but the woman had looked positively gleeful. "Just to let you know, if your son volunteers to help with other classes I'll take ten dollars off the monthly fee."

"Oh! That's good to know."

"And if he decides to drop out entirely--which does happen, martial arts aren't for everyone--his lessons are transferable to another family member." Marian said with a knowing look.

"Also good to know."


	12. Money, That's What I Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold has an 'Aha!' moment. Emma makes a connection. Leroy and Astrid are still trying. Wedding plans are finalized. A message is sent. Emma meets with an old friend.

Money, That's What I Want

by Janie Bradford and Barry Gordon, Jr.

The best things in life are free  
But you can give them to the birds and bees  
I want money

That's what I want  
That's what I want

Your love gives me such a thrill  
But your love won't pay my bills  
I want money

That's what I want  
That's what I want

Money don't get everything it's true  
But what it don't get I can't use  
I want money

That's what I want  
That's what I want

-=-=-=-=-=-

"What about this?" Ruby grabbed a bright pink pleated skirt off a four-way rack. She and her Granny were in Modern Fashions shopping for an outfit for the Big Day.

Charlotte looked down her nose at it. "Looks like an Easter egg."

"Fine," Ruby grumbled, she held up a bright blue pencil skirt. "How's this one?"

Charlotte looked up long enough to pass succinct judgment. "No."

Ruby thought this was worse than the dentist. "What's wrong with it?" Charlotte turned so the sales staff couldn't see and patted her stomach.

"I'll look like a sausage in a casing that's too small." she whispered.

"We could get you some Spanx." Ruby suggested.

"More sausage casing." Charlotte shook her head and kept searching the racks.

"This one's cool!" Ruby exclaimed and held up a black and white dress with a hi-low hemline.

Charlotte studied it and scowled, "Where's the rest of it? The hemline's all wrong."

"That's the style, Granny. Ooh," Ruby cooed, "it has vertical stripes and long sleeves."

"Since I don't want to show off my varicose veins, what am I supposed to wear on my legs?"

"Snug leggings or..."

"If I wanted to wear pants, I'd buy a pantsuit." Charlotte argued while Ruby growled. "I'm buying a pantsuit."

"There's some over there." Ruby pointed to a display while Charlotte adjusted her glasses.

"Where?"

"In the cantankerous old fart section!" Ruby snapped. "Just pick something already!"

Charlotte and Ruby were in the middle of the shop,with a four way rack between them. "If I had known you were going to be cranky, I never would've invited you along." Charlotte lobbed at her granddaughter.

"If I knew you were going to drag your feet, I wouldn't have accepted your invitation!" Ruby threw back. A cease-fire of silence fell on the ladies. "You're nervous, I get it; but you shouldn't be. KP would love whatever you're wearing, even if it's your ratty, faded housecoat with wads of used tissues in the pockets." Charlotte reached across the rack and patted her granddaughters' shoulder. "Of course," Ruby began as a toothy smile grew wide across her face, "instead of something for daytime...," Ruby sauntered over to the lingerie section and pulled a red satin teddy with strategically placed lace from a rack and waved it at Charlotte.

"You're evil."

-=-=-=-

"So we're having dinner on Thanksgiving at two o'clock." Regina informed Emma as the brunette loaded the dishwasher. "I still can't believe you're off that day."

"We drew lots." Emma said, placing a plate of leftover fried chicken in the fridge. "Bad news is: I'm working amateur night."

"What?" Regina paused from pouring dish washing detergent and looked at Emma for an explanation.

"New Years' Eve."

"Oh." Regina replied. "Now that that's done," Regina gestured to the dish washer, "on to wedding business." Regina proclaimed and grabbed her tablet from the kitchen counter. She took Emma by the hand and they settled on the couch in the living room. Regina brought up the To Do list on the tablet. "Have you made a list for invitations?"

"I started one."

"I have about fifty people and plus ones so far."

"Fifty! How many far flung relations do you have?"

"The Mills family dots the east coast. There are the Philadelphia Mills, the New YUork Millos, the Mills of Boston, the Rhode Island Mills. It's an old family. There was even a Mills in the Continental Army."

"Well we won't be inviting him."

"I've also included friends from college, co-workers and colleagues. And yours?"

"My list won't be as long. I have my very last foster parents before I aged out of the system, Bianca and Bernard Maus. I've kept in contact with them and a few of their other kids; Anton, Penny and Abe. I guess they'll be bringing plus ones two. And Bear of course. That's all I can think of right now."

"I'm sorry." Regina patted Emmas' leg, wishing her love more of everything.

"As long as you and the kid are there, I don't care who else shows up."

"I love you too." Regina smiled. "But seriously, we need to have a list so we know how many actual invitations to buy. Until then, we'll concentrate on choosing a style."

"Okay."

Regina opened a new tab and typed in Wedding INvitations. After studying different styles for a few minutes she turned the tablet to face Emma. "What about this?"

"It's covered in lace."

"it's elegant."

"It looks like the curtains at Grannys' B and B."

"Fine." Regina said and kept looking. "How about this one?" The sample showed a deliriously happy couple sitting on grass, gazing at each other adoringly.

"Why would we want pictures of somebody else on our invitation?"

"We would have to provide a picture of ourselves. This just shows what we would look like."

"Heavily medicated?"

"I'm not going to respond to that."

"Anything else I can shoot down?" Emma sniggered.

"Behave yourself Ms. Swan or I won't take you to the tasting next week."

"Whaddya mean tasting? Like free food?"

"We're sampling each of the courses for the reception. Another reason to finish the guest list, so we know how much to budget for catering."

"Oh yeah." Emma said dreamily, her mouth watering. "We at least made a decision on that."

"Yes, we agreed Tonys' was the best choice."

"I'm glad we're not having the traditional Maine reception menu of," Emma counted on her fingers, "fish soup, a main course of fish, served with a fish salad and ending the evening with fish mints. Way too much fish for me."

"We live in a coastal New England town, we should include some seafood." Regina said. "What about salmon?"

Emma made a yuk face. "Tastes like feet."

I'm not sure if I want to know how you gained that knowledge."

"I meant that it smells like feet." Emma laughed.

"That's only slightly better." Regina said, somewhat relieved.

Emma sighed, "Still it's too bad we decided against Tias'. I love their sausage gumbo."

"Yes, but not everyone can handle spices hot enough to melt ear wax."

"Poor everyone." Emma shook her head in mock sympathy. "More for me!"

Regina shook her head, "I don't see how your stomach can handle it."

"Lived in the system and on my own a long time; my stomach's tough, it can handle anything: day old churros, hot dogs made with questionable meat by-products, once on a stakeout I survived for two days on energy shots, stale Pringles and Dinty Moore stew straight out of the can." Emma proclaimed, patting her belly.

Regionas' expression was one of awe, wonder and fear for Emmas' stomach lining. "You have the constitution of a college student."

"What I couldn't toleratew was Skinners' attitude. 'Mademoiselles cannot think of procuring a meal for your guests from that quasi-French swamp dweller.'" Emma said, imitating Pepe le Pew.

"Yes, and I think Skinner wants nothing to do with us after you made accusations about his nationality."

"All I said was 'Give it up, Skinner. Everybody knows you're from Pittsburgh.' Just wanted some honesty. You know I can smell a lie a mile off."

"So, Tonys' it is."

"And I'll bring my own fork to the tasting."

"Speaking of honesty," Regina smiled at the screen and turned the tablet to face Emma. "What do you think of this?"

Emma studied everything about the invitation from the colors and font to the price. "Not bad. It doesn't look like a doily, the type is easy to read and...is ten dollars and five cents the price for like fifty cards?"

Regina scrolled to the top of the screen, "No, that's the price per card."

"Changed my mind! Find something cheaper."

"Alright. Speaking of expenses..." Regina began, "I was talking to my mother."

"About what?" Emma asked while reading the screen over Reginas' shoulder.

"The wedding. She and Daddy want to help pay."

"It's the twenty-first century, if two women can get married then the parents don't have to foot the bill."

"They don't want to pay for everything. They just want to help out."

"Because we can't afford it?"

"This has nothing to do with money, Emma."

"You know once somebody pays for your things they're not yours anymore."

Regina noticed that Emmas' body language had changed; Emmas' legs were tucked underneath her as if poised to jump and away from an impending threat. Emma had moved from the spot next to Regina to the far side of the couch and wedged herself in the corner to get a broader range of vision for a clearer field of fire.

"Money, sex and politics." Regina began, "Three subjects that are considered taboo; we're encouraged not to talk about them because nobody knows how to and remain civil. If Mother and Daddy want to help pay for our wedding that doesn't mean it isn't our wedding anymore. They wouldn't interfere, they wouldn't become in-lawzillas."

Emma looked skeptical, but she untucked one of her legs from beneath her butt and let her bare foot touch the carpet. "People say that."

"Come here." Regina said, patting the cushion next to her. "You're too far away."

Emma scrooched out of her corner and sat hip-to-hip with Regina. As soon as Emma was close enough to touch, Regina put an arm around Emmas' shoulders.

"Sorry." Emma offered in a small voice. "I guess I have money hangups."

"We make about the same."

Emma blew a raspberry. "Thirty K and sixty K aren't the same. And that's right now, you'll make ten times more than me if you go back to being a tax attorney. Not to mention your trust fund."

"Not quite, more like half of that quote. Emma, our money is in a joint account, so your money is mine and what's mine is yours. And it's all ours. But I have a feeling this is about more than money and my parents wanting to help. Talk to me."

Emma sighed, "Flashbacks of being in the system."

"Like what?" Regina reached up and stroked the hair on the back of Emmas' head. Emma took a deep breath and quickly ripped open a puckered emotional scar.

"Some foster parents bought me clothes, but when I went to a different home I couldn't take them with me. One set bought food for the kids, but kept the cabinet and fridge locked. I took to hoarding food; Spaghettios don't taste good cold."

Regina gathered all of Emma--the kick ass adult woman she was going to marry and share a life with, and the lost girl who had to ask for permission to get cereal--into a protective embrace.

"Come to think of it," Emma recalled, "they don't taste good warmed up either."

"So you're afraid if my parents say, pay for the open bar or flowers...what? They'll hold it over us? Or they'll believe their money gives them power to dictate how we plan our wedding?"

"Different ways of taking power." Emma shrugged, "It made sense in my head. Sorry."

"Stop saying that, you have nothing to apologize for."

The ladies sat quietly for a few moments, letting the stress of the conversation recede until it couldn't wash the ladies away from each other.

"So, they wanna help out?" Emma inched into the subject matter. "What kind and how much?"

"Hardly anything at all."

"Like what? I need specifics."

"Paying for Henrys' tuxedo and shoes."

"How much does that cost?"

"A couple hundred, give or take with tax."

Emma shrugged, "I guess that's okay."

"And the flower arrangements from Enchanted Florist." Regina added.

"Another decision we have to make." Emma rolled her head onto Reginas' shoulder in surrender. "When will it stop?"

"After the honeymoon. Hawaii or home?"

"Lemme think...a fifteen minute commute by car versus fifteen hours in a plane. I vote for home. Henry could bunk at your parents' for a couple of days and we could stay home and...play lovers' games."

"I like that idea, Miss Swan." Regina lifted Emmas' chin and placed a soft, lingering kiss upon Emmas' pink lips. "Less time spent traveling..." She began as Emma turned to face Regina.

"Means more time fucking." Emma laughed until Regina pinched Emmas' lifted bottom. "Ow!"

"Language, Miss Swan." Regina said as Emma pulled away slightly. "Oh, no you don't. Come here." Regina gathered Emma into her arms and lay back on the sofa. "Now for another wedding decision."

Emma groaned into Reginas' breast. "What now?"

"Best man and maid of honor." Regina said while twirling Emmas' blond tresses around her fingers. "Have you thought about that?"

"Yeah, it's supposed to be your best friend, right?"

"Mm-hmmm." Regina hummed enjoying the feeling of Emmas' breath on her skin.

"Hard for you to be in two places at once."

The ladies remained entwined until they decided their bed would be more comfortable.

-=-=-=-=-

The following day David was hunched over the computer in his office when Emma strode in bearing to-go bags from Grannys' Diner; she placed a Reuben with chips in the station fridge for Graham, who was due to return from patrol any moment. On her own desk she plopped a patty melt with Mozzarella sticks and knocked on Davids' door to deliver his lunch.

"Hey, boss, got your BLT here; heavy on the tomato, light on the mayo. Extra sweet pickles on the side." Emma studied Davids' red-rimmed eyes as he ripped open the bag and dug the food out. "You look like shit."

"Been squinting at this," David waved his hand at the computer screen. "too long. Take a look at this, I suck at writing job descriptions."

Emma stepped around the desk and read over Davids' shoulder. "Did you use a template? Those help a lot."

"Yes. But I'm afraid applicants are going to laugh when they see the salary." David whined and took a bite from the BLT.

Emma pointed to the top of the screen. "You forgot the job title."

"Shit." David scrolled to the top of the screen and typed furiously with one hand. "Thanks."

"A secretary gets dental?" Emma said in surprise. "I want dental!"

"You have dental, you just never use it."

"Oh, right." Emma remembered. "Speaking of teeth, Regina and I," Emma began as David looked confused at the segue, "are having an open house Thanksgiving. You, Graham and significant others are welcome to drop by anytime you like."

"Thanks for the invite." David said with his mouth full. "Mary Margaret and I aren't doing anything or having anybody over."

"No relatives? I thought turkey day was a huge family day."

David shook his head and swallowed what was in his mouth. "Nah. My mom lives in Florida. Said she wouldn't set food in Maine until June."

Emma pointed at the screen. "Databases is one word."

"Crap." David muttered and cursed the red, squiggly line that announced his mistake.

"What about Mary Margarets' dad?"

"Leo's tutoring students over the holidays."

"So he's a teacher too? That's cool What grade? Where does he teach?"

"High school equivalency at Bartlett University Extension Campus in New Hampshire. When he's not teaching English Lit."

"You two gonna go visit him after the holidays? You hit the percentage sign instead of the dollar sign."

"Godammit!" David cursed at the screen and shook the hand holding the sandwich, sending breadcrumbs flying onto the desk. "No, we can't afford to travel, we're saving up for a house."

"Sorry to hear that. If I hear of anything I'll let you know."

"Thanks." David corrected the last mistake and sat back in his seat, his spine popping in relief. "Speaking of into, I have something for you." He opened his desk drawer, pulled out a sheet of printer paper and placed it in front of Emma.

"Interesting."

-=-=-=-=-

"So you don't know this person?" Emma asked Regina later on that night as the ladies readied themselves for bed. "Never heard of him?" Regina shook her head as she studied a copy of Danny Devines' drivers' license. "Think maybe Cora and Henry know of him? Done business with him?"

Regina was suddenly preoccupied picking lint from her Harvard t-shirt.

"What?" Emma pestered then suddenly realized. "You didn't tell them, did you?"

"I didn't want to worry them."

"They're your parents. They'd want to know!" Emma fussed. "And I assume Henry's been sworn to secrecy?"

"Yes, because I know how they'd react: Mother would release the Hellhounds and Daddy would make chicken soup." Regina handed the sheet of paper back to Emma, who placed it on the dresser.

"Well," Emma sighed heavily, "if you don't know this guy, never had dealings with the guy, then it doesn't have anything to do with you."

"Then who?"

-=-=-=-=-

Emma didn't need to look up the number, she knew it by heart. The phone was picked up on the second ring.

"Detective Phil Kipling."

"Hey, Bear."

"Emma!" The man dropped the official cop tone and softened the greeting. "Still living out of your car and picking up skips?" Emma relaxed upon hearing his mellow, baritone voice and pictured the tall, gray haired, big bellied man sitting with his feet on the desk.

Emma smiled and looked at the change in her scenery; a steady job and most importantly a home. "No Phil, I have a permanent job now."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot. Working in some podunk town up in the Great White North, right?" he teased.

"Storybrooke, Maine." Emma said like she was announcing her tribe.

"Is this a personal or professional call?"

"A bit of both."

"Gimmie the personal first, and make it good."

"I'm getting married." Silence. For a few moments Emma thought the line had gone dead. "Phil, you still there?"

"I'm here." he choked out and Emma heard the sound of Phil blowing his nose while holding the phone. "Well, who's the lucky one and where's my invitation?"

Emma wanted to take all the time in the world to describe the fucking fabulous, wonderful, too good for the likes of me Regina Mills, but there were other matters to attend to so Emma kept it short. "She's the mayor of Storybrooke, she's a brunette, she's hot and she's all mine."

"Kid, I'm happy for you, I really am." He said, "So, what's the professional part?"

"Ever heard of Danny Devine?" She read Phil the information David had given her.

"Hold on." He said. Emma could hear Phil sliding his feet off his desk and banging away at the computer keyboard with his bear paw-sized hands.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=

Two weeks and not a word. No phone calls, texts or even a letter. Would she write a letter?' Malcolm wondered as he glanced at appointments on his computers' calendar. 'Maybe, if someone else paid for the stamp.' Two weeks and Felix was still pissed about Gerri stealing his concert money. His room still looked like it needed FEMA assistance. The teen spent most of his time sulking. 'Well, not this weekend.' Malcolm thought determinedly. 'Saturday we're going to repair his room.' In the last two weeks Malcolm had saved enough money to buy paint, roller brushes, a drywall repair kit and all the tools he'd probably only use once to salvage his sons' bedroom. 'And after that's done, I'll get him a new dresser; even though he says he likes living out of laundry baskets.' Malcolm turned the word 'I' over in his mind. 'Singular, by myself. Did Gerri and I ever say 'we?'

His office phone let out a shrill ring, dragging Malcolms' mind into the present. "Yes, Miss Mirage? Right my ten o'clock. Send them in." The appointment had been thrown on the calendar at the last moment; he was expecting a doctor or some other hospital official, but was gobsmacked when a blond woman in a Sheriffs' Department uniform marched into his office. "Deputy Swan?" 

She read his facial expression and held up her hand. "Relax, I'm not here about your kid."

Malcolm released a breath and Emma took a seat in front of his desk. "Then why are you?"

She pulled the copy of Danny Devines' drivers license from a pocket inside her coat and handed it to Malcolm, who had returned to his own seat. "Know this man?"

Malcolm took a minute to read the printout. "No. And if he's as angry in person as he looks in this picture, I don't want to." He returned the sheet to Emma. "Who is he?"

"Danny Devine. According to my sources at Boston PD, he's a strip club owner and a small-time loan shark."

"Why are you asking if I know him?"

"Because he was the one following Felix."

Malcolm shook his head. "You lost me. Why would he follow Felix? He's just a kid!"

"Look at it this way,. Mr. Peters: my fiancee doesn't know Devine, you don't know Devine. My guess its it has something to do with your wife."

"My wife?" Malcolm stammered. "You just said he was following Felix." 

"I figure he wanted to put pressure on Felix to make his mom pay on a debt."

"Debt?" Malcolm stammered. "You think she borrowed money from a loan shark?"

Emma shrugged, "I didn't think he was inviting her to interview for pole dancer. I'll find out for sure once I talk to her."

Malcolm sighed heavily and dragged out his dirty laundry. "You can't. Gerri took off two weeks ago and I haven't heard from her."

"Interesting. Are you sure she left? Of her own free will?"

"I was until right now! Wait, she took some of her own clothes." Malcolms' thoughts began to spin with worry for someone he didn't even like anymore. Sure, Gerri was a selfish wife and a terrible mother, but still...she didn't deserve...whatever Deputy Swan seemed to be suggesting. "Do you think he really would hurt her? Is he dangerous?"

"My source says not especially; he's more loud and terrier-like than anything. But pushed into a corner, he might be capable of violence, like everybody else."

"Jesus Christ." Malcolm whispered, or maybe prayed. "What do I do now?"

"Take precautions. Keep me informed." Emma took a business card from her pocket. "This one's a direct line to me at the Sheriffs' office." Emma turned the card over, grabbed a pen off the desk and scribbled on the back. "That's my personal phone number, in case you need immediate help." She slid it across the desk. "We good?" He nodded.

"What can be done about him?" Malcolm asked.

"I'll think of something."

-=-=-=-=-

Malcolm cancelled his eleven o'clock appointment and made phone calls for the next hour. The first one was to the school; Felix would no longer be coming home on his regular bus. Instead, he was taking a different bus and would be delivered to the hospitals' front door, starting today. He sent a text to Felix with the news, who responded with '?'. Malcolm replied, 'Will explain later.' Felix sent back 'K.' Next, Malcolm scheduled a locksmith to install new locks and extra deadbolts for all exterior doors. For good measure Malcolm called a local home security system company; the man who answered--Leroy--assured Malcolm they could have a workman at his home tonight and was told that in case of an emergency their system would notify the police, fire department or ambulance automatically. The final call took the longest to make.

"Zoso and Fyre Family Practice," the secretary greeted him in a solemn yet helpful voice, "how may we help you?"

"I saw you listed under divorce lawyers."

"Yes sir."

"I need to make an appointment."

-=-=-=-=-

There's an adage about not leaving one job until you have another lined up. But whoever said it never worked for Albert Spencer.

Two days before Thanksgiving Spencer returned from a three-to-six martini business meeting with Percival C. MacLeach and his guns. "I don't know why I should have to shut down the office for a bullshit holiday." Spencer had barked at the office staff. "If anything you," He waved his arm around, pointing accusingly at the double visions, "should work through the weekend while I," Spencer thumped his chest proudly, "spend the weekend with an important client." He had weaved through the office, knocking items off peoples' desks: photo frames, cellphones, travel mugs filled with coffee. Fueled by Dutch courage, Spencer his tirade, "But no! You bitches gotta have four days to spend money and watch your asses get bigger." Spencer wobbled toward his office and paused to rest at Sallys' desk. He focused his eyes and saw one and a half Sally Burtons. "I'm the boss around here," Spencer growled and stabbed Sally in the chest with his finger, "and don't you forget it, Scarface." Then he fought with his office door knob until the door swung open, gingerly stepped into his office and slammed the door behind him.

Once inside his office, Spencer flopped onto the leather couch and sank into dreams of vodka and toxic masculinity. Hours later he awoke to the pains of demons digging holes in his skull with jackhammers, his stomach in knots and feeling all over like death. Thankfully his office was blessedly dark. With his head pounding Spencer couldn't hear if there was anyone in the outer office. Over the course of what felt like a year he inched himself into a vertical position, tip-toed his way to the door and opened it.

"Coffee." He grumbled and got no response. Spencer opened the door wider and tried again, getting no reply for his trouble. Finally he opened the door and his eyes completely and saw no one. He forced himself to concentrate and looked at the clock; it read ten after five. He turned around (oh, so slowly) and saw a letter on his secretarys' desk. It read: 

We will no longer tolerate your abuse, you cancerous anus. You may consider this our notice.

It was signed by Sally Burton, Anastasia Tremaine, Mim Magus and Sharon Sonsie.

-=-=-=-=-

Sally, Anastasia, Mim and Sharon met at the Rabbit Hole that night to cry into their collective beers. Someone suggested giving their group a name, like 'Why Didn't We Quit Sooner?' or 'Fools That Worked For That Asshole Too Long.' Mim shook her head, lilac hair flying, and recommended 'Vacating Vixens.' After nearly everyone had a glass of wine the vote was passed unanimously and celebrated with cheesy potato skins. Once the thrill of starches had gone, the ladies loosened their girdles and their tongues.

Fears of being unemployed in a small town (Sally, Anastasia) with family to support (Sharon) at their age (Mim) were discussed. They drowned their sorrows in wines of all colors and someone wondered aloud how Ashley Boyd was getting on and applauding the young woman for getting out when she did. Phones were dug from purses and contact lists were checked. After a minute one of the four yelled triumphantly, frightening Gus, the barkeep, a biker club and Mr. Gold, who happen to be there collecting rent. The phones' owner dialed the former co-worker and pressed the speaker button when Ashley answered.

"Where are you?" Ashley practically yelled into the phone to be heard over the jukebox and Mim screeching for an order of sliders.

"Come down to the Rabbit Hole and find out!" Sharon giggled into the phone and took another sip of wine. 

"I'm out of town, I can't!" Ashley explained. Her former co-workers cried 'Boo!' into the phone. "But I'll be back after the holiday, let's get together then." She apologized and hung up.

Mim started singing 'The Cats' In The Cradle' off-key while Anastasia burst into tears; Sharon slurped her wine sadly and Sally distributed tissues to the lot. About this time Emma, who was on rounds, walked in. She saw the drama and approached with caution.

"What's the problem here?" Emma asked.

"It's like the end of The Golden Girls!" Anastasia cried.

"I'll never see you guys again!" Sharon wailed.

Sally looked up at Emma, "We're having a wake of sorts."

"Did somebody die?" Emma asked.

"Our jobs!" The wine drinker said over her glass. "And friendship!"

Emma walked over to the bar. "Gus, cut them off now. Do you have any coffee?" Gus shook his head. "Make some; and make sure it can stand without a cup. Until then, waters all around." Emma returned to the table and distributed four bottles of water, pulled up a chair and sat down. She studied the group; they looked like a herd of Eeyores. The one with blue hair was singing sad songs to herself. The redhead quietly munched on a cold mozzarella stick. The one with Clairol coloring stared at the Pabst Blue Ribbon sign like it held the meaning of life. Only the one with scars looked sober enough to talk to.

"Sorry about this."

"It's to be expected in a bar." Emma waved off the apology. "So, what? You guys were laid off, fired, outsourced?"

"We quit. It felt good at first, considering how were treated at work, but I guess the reality kicked in."

"Are you the designated driver?"

Sally nodded her head and held up a glass. "Sprite all night."

"Where'd you quit?" Emma asked. Sally told her and Emma turned the name over in her mind. It rang a bell, but the chime was faint.

"He's on the PTA." Sally reminded Emma and the name reverberated in her ears.

"You saw that video?"

"Someone showed us at the office the next day, before Mr. Spencer came in. A lot of us put it on our Favorites list."

"Glad you enjoyed it. So, what will you do now?"

"Eat a lot of leftovers." Sharon piped up, still hypnotized by the neon sign. 

Mim walked on unsteady feet from the table to the jukebox and squinted at the selection list. She pulled a couple of wadded one dollar bills from her bra, fed them into the machine and pushed a button. There was a hiss from the speakers before Mim and George Jones wailed about love and a wreath on a door. Emma noticed one of the bikers giving Mim the eye and tipping his beer bottle the whole three minutes. 

"Economize." Anastasia said sadly, "I don't want to go back to living with my mother."

"Look for another job." Sally spoke for the group.

Gus arrived with a tray of mugs and a pot of fresh, hot coffee. He switched out the the wine glasses for coffee cups.

"Well," Emma began, "If it helps, the sheriffs' office needs a secretary-slash-dispatcher."

"Would we get a gun?" Sharon asked with a grin.

"No," Emma replied firmly, "but you'll get a dental plan."

"I'm sick of office work." Anastasia admitted and drank her coffee.

Emma turned to her, "What else can you do?"

"I can cook." Anastasias' mouth formed a hard, thin line. "Yeah Mr. Spencer, I can cook alright! I make a lemon bar that'll knock your socks off! And you haven't lived until you've had my apple pie with from-scratch crust. But I won't make either for you 'cause you don't deserve it."

"Damn right!" Sharon shouted, causing Emma to jump and the bikers to turn and stare.

"Do you think she'll remember that speech tomorrow?" Sally asked Emma, who wrote something on a cocktail napkin and gave it to Sally.

"Put it in her purse." Emma said. Sally peeked, it said 'Bake professionally.' "What about you?" Emma asked Sharon, who was nursing her coffee.

Sharon shrugged. "I've done office work since I was eighteen. I'll find something somewhere; be another cog in the machine. Same shit, different day. Countdown to the weekend, you know?"

That is a thoroughly unhappy woman, Emma thought. Her attention turned to the dance floor where the lady with the Easter egg colored hair was slow dancing (actually it looked to Emma like two potato sacks leaning against each other) with a member of the biker gang to "For The Good Times." Something about the way she pushed the man around the dance floor tole Emma she wouldn't have to worry about her. 

"Well it looks like they're in good hands, Sally." Emma stated and rose from her seat. "Good luck with it and safe travels to you." After Emma left the Rabbit Hole Sally put the note in Anastasias' purse, collected two of her three friends and drove them home. She tried to persuade Mim to leave too, but Mim was adamant about staying with the biker gang. The last Sally saw of Mim, she was wearing a gang members' jacket and pumping her fist in the air to 'Livin' On A Prayer.' Matter of fact, that was the last time anybody saw Mim at all.

-=-=-=-=-=-

The following day the former Employees of Spencers' Law Firm looked up job listings on StorybrookeJobs.com. Sally found the openiong at the Sheriffs' office, Sharon applied for everything where she could work nine to five and Anastasia felt Keanes' Bakery was the best fit. She not only brought a resume to the interview but an applie pie weighing four pounds; Frank Keane hired her on the spot.

-=-=-=-=-

"When's he coming over?" Astrid asked after she had stopped panting.

"I don't wanna talk about Gold." Leroy said while wiping sweat from his head and face with the flat sheet. "I'd rather discuss a second round." Astrid was lying on her side now, her hair was matted at the root with sweat, a sheen of perspiration covered her naked body, there was a satisfied glow in her eyes and she never looked more beautiful.

Astrid and Leroy were taking the 'hope for the best, prepare for the worst' tack. They were still trying to get pregnant the old-fashioned way, but saving up for the high-tech turkey baster. That's why they were discussing Gold; he was supposed to come over to look at some items that couldn't be put in the trunk of a car and taken to the pawn shop.

"Join me in the shower?" Astrid asked and rolled to her feet. Leroy didn't want to shower, he didn't want to move. He wanted to lie on the bed all day and gaze upon his wifes' naked body. But once he moved his arm and got a whiff of himself, he changed his mind.

"Fucking assholes." Leroy complained after joining his wife.

"What?" Astrid asked, scrubbing her hair with shampoo. "Couldn't hear you."

"Insurance company."

"Oh." Astrid said after she rinsed soap from her hair and stepped out from under the water. "Right." They were notified two days before that their insurance company refused to cover IVF. After being told Leroy spent some time in the garage banging on something with a hammer. Astrid put her emotions onto canvas via splatter painting. The couple finished their shower and dried off; no sooner had they finished dressing there was a knock on the door. 

"I'll get it." Leroy offered and went downstairs to greet the visitor. He opened the door to find the town pawnbroker on his front step. He wore a two-piece suit in charcoal gray, a black and white check shirt and a dark red tie. His penny loafers were polished to a glossy shine. Leroy threw on a weathered gray coat that was hanging on a hook by the front door and stepped outside. "Thanks for stopping by Mr. Gold. I hate to disturb you so close to the holiday."

Andrew threw an wave in Leroys' direction. "It's not the first time I've paid a visit to a potential client instead of the other way around." Andrew tightened his grip on the gold-tipped cane and shifted his weight slightly. "Shall we proceed?"

"Oh, yeah, sure." Leroy said and lead the way to a two-car detached garage. "It's in here." Leroy opened the side door, reached inside and flipped a light switch. Leroy hurried over to a long, narrow object that was covered with a tarp. "This'll take a couple of minutes." Leroy thought about asking Andrew for help, but noticed the mans' leg was bothering him. "You wanna sit down, Mr. Gold? There's some lawn chairs over there." Leroy pointed behind Andrew to an adirondack rocking chair. Andrew noted the chair was made of cherry wood and had an intact wicker back and seat.

"Do you have the rest of the set?" Andrew asked of Leroy, who was wadding the large tarp into a ball. Leroy looked up and around the garage.

"It's around here somewhere. Check over there with the rest of the junk." Leroy pointed to a corner near the garage door.

'Junk, indeed.' thought Andrew. 'It's worth at least five hundred dollars.' He gently made his way around a pile of this-and-that; a large cardboard box filled with assorted rusty tools, a Stihl weedeater, 'If the man was interested, I'd pay seventy-five on the spot.' Rolls of plastic sheeting, two floor fans, plastic totes marked 'Christmas decorations.'

"Move stuff around if you want to. It's not organized." Leroy said.

"Your garage looks like the back of my shop."

Leroy chuckled, "One of these days I'll clean it out."

"Mr. Miner," Andrew said as he gingerly stepped over a milk crate filled with Mason jars and assorted canning supplies sitting on buckets of paint. A second crate filled with worn-out paint brushes and a drop cloth that was stiff with old paint was sitting on top of the first crate. On the walls were vintage bar signs. A Schwinn bicycle with missing handle bars leaned on a bare motorcycle frame. The further Andrew progressed to the far corner the tighter space became until he was walking sideways. "I've been saying that about my workroom for years."

"It's finally off, come take a look!" Leroy called out.

"Give me time to make my way out of the labyrinth."

"Yeah, it's a bit tight back there. Watch out for the pickaxes on the floor."

Just as Andrew wondered if he should have marked his return with string, he looked over a stack of boxes at a wooden trapper canoe sitting on a stand. Before he could get closer Leroy started a sales pitch.

"It's about forty years old, but it's in really good condition. My grandpa refinished it a few years before he died. It's made of cedar and mahogany. The rings are brass."

Andrew was doing calculations in his head and simultaneously remembering clients interested in watercraft. He should have been watching his step instead. Andrews' right ankle became entangled with a length of electrical wire on a spool; he tripped forward, slid off a pile of vinyl records and landed with a jarring bounce on something metal.

"Mr. Gold! Jesus!" Leroy cried out as he hurried over. Leroy found Andrews' cane on the floor and held it out. Andrew didn't reach for it right away. He remained face-down, his long hair fell forward around his face, masking his expression of terror.

A night of too much wine. A hard plastic tray under his body. Zelena looming over him through wire, black wire, wire held secure with plastic zip ties. Zelena smiling as he pleaded. Too much heat, not enough space. Get out! Need to get out now!

"I shouldn't have let you go back there, it's a mess. Jesus, I'm sorry." Leroy heaped one apology atop another, like the crates and boxes in the garage.

Andrews' skin turned clammy and he was swimming in sweat under his wool coat. He carefully pushed himself off the kennel and wiped his sweaty face with a handkerchief, making sure to keep his back to Leroy, who was apologizing for the mess, the accident and living in general.

"Go." Andrew stuttered, "I have to go."

"You want Astrid to take a look? She has First Aid training." Leroy offered and widened the path by pushing items out of the way with his foot. 

"No." Andrew adamantly refused. He felt like he was flying apart; any moment he'd blast through the garages' ceiling leaving an Andrew shaped sihlouette behind, like a Bugs Bunny cartoon. "I'll feel better once I'm home." Andrew said shakily and took his cane from Leroy.

"Okay, Mr. Gold." Leroy said to Andrews' back as the man tottered to his car. "We can do this some other time." Leroy wondered if Mr. Gold had aggravated his knee injury, or perhaps got the wind knocked out of him. The more money-oriented part of Leroys' brain wondered if this would affect how much Mr. Gold would pay for the canoe.

-=-=-=-=-

'Pretty quiet day.' Emma thought. It was almost quitting time and she was filling out a report about giving Fey Blue a verbal warning about a burned out tail light on her Mercedes AMG when she saw a man driving a Cadillac do a California roll through a four-way stop. Emma put down the paperwork, switched on the lights and followed.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It was the longest twelve miles Andrew had ever driven. He parked his Cadillac caddywhompus on the street, brushing the curb with the right front tire and the tail end sticking out. Andrew didn't notice as the Sheriffs' car pulled in behind him. He limped as fast as he could up to the house while Emma put the transmission in park and got out of the car. Andrew unlocked the front door and called inside.

"Belle!" Andrew stuck his head over the threshold but didn't dare go inside. Not enough space, not enough air. Better to stay outside where there weren't any walls to close around him or doors to be locked behind him. "Belle!" he called louder and retreated from the doorway. He turned and looked at the space in the driveway where Belles' car should be, it was empty. "Belle." he whimpered.

'For a man with a bad leg, he sure moves fast.' Emma thought as she walked up to Andrew slowly. 

"Hello, Mr. Gold." She studied him as she approached. His skin was pale. His hair was plastered to his face with sweat. He rubbed his temples as if he was fighting off a migraine. "Mr. Gold?"

He turned to look at where the voice was coming from, it sounded far away. Emma couldn't imagine what was going on in his mind. Obviously, Mr. Gold isn't here right now, please leave a message.

"Remember me? I'm Deputy Emma Swan." Emma asked, no answer. His fingernails were dug into the door frame. "Would you like to sit down?" She gestured to the bistro set on the front porch. Andrew nodded. Emma didn't know if she should offer a hand or give him his space, she took his lead. He limped over to a wrought iron chair and sat down. "Mind if I sit?" Emma took his silence as a yes and took a seat. "Mr. Gold, do you want anything?" He turned and looked at Emma so quickly she had a jump scare. Slowly he removed his phone from his coat pocket and sent a text. From Emmas' position she saw it was an ICE, the name was Belle. The message: Boo. "I'll stay with you until she comes home." Emma called the station and explained the situation. A few minutes later a midnight blue BMW with sexy lines parked in the drive and a tiny woman in towering heels jumped out.

"Andrew?" the woman called out as she took the front steps two at a time. She took his hands in her own, Andrews' eyes were downcast, when he looked up, his expression was apologetic; as if he had brought shame upon the family. "Shhh." Belle whispered and ran her fingers through his long hair. Andrew drew Belle close, wrapped his arms about her waist and buried his face between her breasts. Emma let a decent amount of time pass before speaking.

"I take it you've dealt with this before." Emma asked.

"I have some experience with his panic attacks." Belle replied, still stroking Andrews' hair. "Could I ask you for a bottle of water? There's some in the fridge."

"Yeah, sure." Emma went inside, returned to the porch with a bottle of Evian, uncapped it and handed it to Andrew, who took small sips.

"Thanks." Belle said.

Emma looked at the traffic on the street to give the couple some privacy and saw the AMG from earlier going slowly down the street, the driver staring out the window.

"You might want to move this inside." Emma said to Belle and gestured to the street.

"Right. Andrew, where's your cane?" Belle asked. Emma found it near the front door and handed it over. "Andrew, we're going inside now." He looked up at his wife as if he were afraid to leave what he deemed a safe place. Andrew took a deep, cleansing breath and struggled to stand with the help of his wife.

"What set it off?" Emma asked.

"Nothing you need be concerned with, Deputy Swan." Andrew replied, his accent sharp and hard. His words drawing a line in the sand. 

"There's the Mr. Gold we all know and love." Emma said.

"I trust you'll have to make a report about this." Andrew said as he was guided inside by his wife. Emma closed the door behind them. "Since it wasn't a social call." Andrew eased onto a leather couch with a camel hump. He placed his bad leg on an ottoman and covered it with a multicolored quilt from the back of the couch. "Why are you here, Deputy? Surely you didn't witness me having a panic attack from inside the vehicle?"

"You rolled through a stop sign."

"Ah. So I imagine I'll receive a ticket."

"How about a verbal warning instead? As long as you move your car; your back end is hanging out."

"Give me a few minutes and I'll uphold that bargain."

"I can fix it, where are the keys?" Belle offered. "Still in the car?" Andrew nodded. "You stay in here and rest."

"I do as my lady commands." Andrew replied and kissed Belles' hand before she went out to move the car. As soon as Belle was out the door Andrews' expression changed from exhausted to steely, the one he wore when he wanted the better part of a deal. "What do you want?" Andrew asked.

"You mean like coffee?" Emma replied.

"Don't play stupid with me, Deputy Swan." Andrew was now leaning forward, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair. "Everyone wants a favor."

"You're trying to bribe me?"

"I want to ensure your," Andrew paused to find the appropriate word, "discretion about this episode."

"Serve and protect," Emma said, "It's what I do because I'm a peacekeeper. And even if I wasn't I'd still have stopped to help you out because it's the decent thing to do. Unlike the woman who drove past your house twice for a peek, I won't blab your business on social media."

Andrew sat back feeling relieved and more than a bit foolish. "My apologies, Deputy."

"Consider the incident forgotten. Have panic attacks often?"

Andrew rubbed his bad leg for a moment. "On occasion."

"Like, how many times a year?"

"Six or seven."

"Sounds more like PTSD to me."

"I was never a soldier, Deputy."

Emma shrugged, "You don't have to go through hell in a sandy place to develop PTSD." Andrew looked surprised at this statement, as if it were a revelation.

"What I experienced would hardly be considered an apples to apples comparison."

"No, but I'm sure it still counts as fruit."

Belle came back inside and placed the Cadillac keys in a Depression Era bowl on a table by the front door. "All fixed. Your rear end isn't sticking out any more."

"Good, thank you Belle." Andrew said. He grabbed his cane and stood. "I'll see you to the door Deputy."

Once outside, Andrew cleared his throat. To him, Maryhill was yesterday. Days of struggle, nights of hunger. 'Your reputation preceeds you' meant that you didn't want to know this person. Deputy Swan gave that phrase a different meaning, and the people who did that Andrew could name on four fingers. "Don't think I'm trying to grease your palm Deputy Swan; but if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask." 

"Actually I need a favor." She explained the situation as Andrew patiently listened.

Now it was five.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

"So, that's the plan." Emma said as she threw items into an overnight bag. "Whaddya think?"

Regina sat on a winged chair by the window with her arms folded across her chest. "It sounds like an idea fraught with danger and I forbid you to go." Regina decreed.

"You know you're a queen in nickname only." Emma responded.

"Thanksgiving is in two days, put it off until after the holidays."

Emma emerged from the bathroom and dropped her toothbrush and hairbrush into the bag. "Delay until a future date and hopefully I'll forget about it?"

Regina shrugged. "That might have been on my mind. Emma why are you doing this?"

"This guy," Emma said, rummaging through her drawers for clean socks and underwear, "needs to get a clear message. Like the one you gave to the PTA."

"That was different, hypocrisy bothers me." Regina said, inspecting her nails. "So do bullies."

"That's what a loan shark is, Regina. Give them an inch..."

"They swim all over you."

"More like bleed you to death. Do you worry thismuch about me when I'm at work?"

"Yes. Kind of. I mean Storybrooke's a little town, every day pretty much the same."

"Dullsville." Emma stopped packing and sat across from Regina. "It should be on the Welcome sign by the town line; Storybrooke: A perfect place to have a coma." Emmas' attempt at humor drew a small smile on Reginas' face, but couldn't erase the worry from her eyes. "I'm gonna go whether you like it or not."

"I had a feeling. And I hate that you have to do this alone."

"I won't be alone."

-=-=-=-=-=-

It took two hours to reach Boston from Storybrooke, but it felt longer. Every idiot with a license was on the road. Emma and Bear agreed to meet at a local diner twenty minutes away from the Parrot Club to catch up, eat and discuss plans.

"I don't have a plan." Emma said while tearing into a burger with extra pickles. "Tell me more about this Devine character, is he a pimp too?"

"I know it's not much of a stretch, but no. If the dancers wanna turn a trick, he takes a cut for room rental."

"Like a no-tell motel."

"What'll you do if he turns violent?" Bear asked, his voice mellow and curious.

"I'll throw you at him."

"I'm honored you'd use me as a shield, Emma." Bear chuckled and finished off his Salisbury steak. The waitress walked by the table and dropped the check between the diners. "Ready?"

Emma grabbed the check before Bear could, laid down enough for the bill and a twenty-five percent tip (a habit she picked up from Regina) on the table. "As I'll ever be."

-=-=-=-=-=-

It took a moment or two for Emmas' vision to adjust to the light change. The Parrot Club was almost devoid of light, save for the spotlights above the performing areas, the bar along the back wall and the miners' helmets worn by patrons. While Bear paid the cover charges, Emma scanned the club; waitresses in short skirts and pasties served drinks to men seated at tiny tables, the main stage was a catwalk that jutted out from a wall to the middle of the room. There were rooms on either side of the stage marked VIP that Emma assumed were for private dances. She also noticed those rooms were guarded by Very Large Men. She pointed it out to Bear, who was placing a drinks order with a waitress.

"Do you see him at all?" Bear asked after their drinks arrived. It was late afternoon and the music wasn't turned to a volume that caused patrons' eardrums to bleed.

"No." Emma shook her head, "I'd hate to think I made the trip for nothing." A couple of patrons leered at Emma from the bar, she shot them down with a 'I double-dog dare you to start shit' expression. They turned and studied their drinks. Pity, she thought.

"I wouldn't call this nothing." Bear exclaimed and clapped Emma on the back. "I'm catching up with an old friend and watching naked women. A great way to spend the night!" Emma nodded in agreement and quietly appreciated the scenery...and felt guilty.

There was movement beside the bar, a door the same color as the walls opened; a balding man wearing a beige jacket and dark slacks came through the door, followed by a stacked blonde in a leopard-print dress. Emma elbowed Bear and the two moved to a table closer to the bar. Over the thumping bass and trays of glasses clinking behind the bar, Emma could just barely overhear the conversation in the office; someone was yelling about "no fucking reprieves."

"Sounds like he's in a meeting."

She and Bear waited until the now angry blond stomped her way out of the office with the balding man on her heels a moment later. Emma scanned the room, when it looked as if no one was going to approach the office door, she leaned over to her backup. "I'm going in."

"Uh huh." Bear replied while staring at a redhead who was working the main pole.

"I'll holler if I need you."

"Uh huh." 

Emma rolled her eyes and looked like she could choke him. "Your hair's on fire."

"Mmmhmmm, okay."

Emma entered the office without knocking.

-=-=-=-=-

Danny was sitting at his desk sipping a hot tea and subtracting the amount of money Moon had thrown at him from the mans' total debt when the office door was opened and a woman with long blond hair, red jacket and painted-on jeans barged in.

"What the fuck is this?" He stood up quickly, his hand still wrapped around the mug, two fingers in the handle. He looked the woman up and down like a searchlight and made an assumption. "We're not hirin', get the fuck out!" Danny waved toward the door and sloshed tea on his desk, making puddles on the ledger. "Fuck! Now my paperworks' fuckin' soaked! Are ya fuckin' deaf, girlie?"

Suddenly the fear fueled anger that had been slowly churning through her mind like an undertow exploded into white hot rage. The woman approached him and when within arms' reached, grabbed Danny by the lapels of his burgundy suit, jerked him forward--his feet now dangling a foot off the floor--quickly grabbed a handful of his hair and slammed him face-down on the desk, tea now soaking the front of his brown shirt.

"Okay," Danny choked out, his neck now pressed into the edge of the desk, the womans' right knee pressed between his shoulder blades, the now empty mug still in his hand. "I made an ass of you an' me, sorry love. My apologies. I take it you're not a dancer."

"No fucking shit, smart boy." The blond growled at him. She grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him up and backwards until his spine looked like a fish hook.

"Waitwaitwait!" Danny gasped and flailed his arms, trying to relieve the pressure on his spine. "No need for this, love. We can sit down like civilized people, talk about your problem. Maybe over a cuppa?"

"You talk too much."

"So I've been told. Whaddya fuckin' want?"

"Is Gerri Dandridge alive?"

"I sure as fuck hope so, she fuckin' owes me upward of nine grand!"

"Not this time, you take it as a business loss." The woman jerked his collar so far back Danny could see drywall seams in the ceiling. "You're gonna stay the fuck out of Storybrooke. You're staying the fuck away from what's mine. And you're gonna return the book you stole from the library." With that she released Danny and he slid forward off the desk into a heap on the floor. Looking up, Danny saw her straighten her red jacket before exiting his office into the club.

"She can't outrun the Devine!" He yelled to her back. "One way or another, I'll fuckin' get what's mine!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a huge thank you to my editors. They offer critiques, ideas and keep me sane. 
> 
> A side note: try to guess who Phil Kipling is in the Disney world.


	13. Over the River and Through the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving, food, sex, oh my! But not sex with food.

Storybrooke PTA: Chapter 13: 

 

Over the River and Through the Wood   
By: Lydia Maria Child

 

Over the river and through the wood  
To Grandfather’s house we go;  
The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh  
Through the white and drifted snow.

 

Over the river and through the wood  
To Grandfather’s house away!

 

We would not stop for doll or top,  
For ‘tis Thanksgiving Day

 

Over the river and through the wood  
Oh, how the wind does blow!  
It stings the toes and bites the nose  
As over the ground we go.

 

Over the river and through the wood  
And straight through the barnyard gate  
We seem to go extremely slow  
It is so hard to wait!

 

Over the river and through the wood  
When Grandmother sees us come  
She will say, “O, dear, the children are here,  
Bring a pie for everyone.”

 

Over the river and through the wood  
Now Grandmothers’ cap I spy!  
Hurrah for the fun! Is the pudding done?  
Hurrah for the pumpkin pie!

 

 

Emma dragged her wagon home to the Mayoral Mansion in the wee, small hours. She entered the house, the overnight bag swinging gently by her side. As she climbed the staircase her knee reminded her of the unexpected exercise she put it through tonight. Last night? What the hell time was it anyway? And as she passed by Henry’s bedroom she noticed the door was open a crack and that a bright white light came from inside the room. She knocked softly and opened the door.

 

“Hey, kid.” 

 

Henry was reclined in his bed, his fingers dancing across the screen. “Hey, Emma.”

 

“Why are you up so late?”

 

“I’m on group chat.”

 

“With who?” 

 

“Felix, Neal and Roland.”

 

“Well tell ‘em you love ‘em and hang up, you have school tomorrow.” Emma said and dug her phone from her jacket pocket and grumbled when as she looked at the time. God, tomorrow’s gonna be rough, she thought. “I mean today. Go to bed. I love you, kid.”

 

Henry looked up from closing the app long enough to respond. “I love you too, Emma.”

 

Emma stayed planted at the door making sure Henry shut off his phone and crawled into bed, then went to do the same. She opened the door of the master bedroom, walked across the room to the bathroom--using her phone screen as a flashlight--closing the door of the bathroom before turning on the bathroom light.

 

When she emerged from the bathroom wearing her ‘Don’t Fuck With Mr. Zero’ sleep shirt Regina leaned up on one elbow and turned on the table lamp next to the bed. “Emma, you’re home late.” she said, looking at the time on her phone.

 

“Shit, I’m sorry. I hoped you wouldn’t hear me come in.”

 

“What kept you? I was worried. Boston’s only a two hour drive.”

 

“I’m sorry, I should’ve called. But one does not simply walk into a strip club with Phil Harris and expect to leave immediately.”

 

“Did you see anything you liked?” 

 

Regina pulled the comforter and sheet down on Emmas’ side of the bed.

 

Emmas’ gaze scanned over Regina as the blond watched her fiance stretch like a cat. “Mmmhmm, I do now.” Regina extended her fingers and arms, reaching toward the ceiling. She pointed her toes like a dancer and returned them to a neutral position. Emma heard a popping sound as Regina arched her back. 

 

“Finished?” Emma asked and smiled at Regina, who looked like a feline beside the fireside. Regina nodded. “Good.” Emma slid under the covers and leaned over Regina, her long tresses creating a blond barrier between the outside world and Regina. “I love you.” Emma whispered and placed a gentle, suckling kiss on Reginas’ lower lip. She placed kisses on Reginas’ cheeks and nose, her forehead and paying special attention to the tender places behind Reginas’ ears that made the brunette squeal.

 

“Shhh.” Emma wiggled out of her underwear and took off her sleep shirt, tossing the items on the floor. “You’re beautiful in black silk,” she whispered to Regina, “but I’d rather see you naked. I need to see you naked. Now.” Regina sat up and allowed Emma to pull the nightgown over her head; she laid back down and enjoyed the feeling of Emma running her hands down her breasts and stomach, resting on the waistband of her matching black panties. Emma slowly rolled them over Reginas’ hips and down her toned legs. When they joined Emmas’ clothes on the floor Emma laid her head on Reginas’ stomach. 

 

“I took care of the problem. I don’t think Danny Devine will make an appearance in Storybrooke again. Or in the state of Maine for that matter.” 

 

“Good.” Then Regina bit her lower lip pensively. “What did you do?” 

 

“I...made my point.” Emma said haltingly.

 

Regina released a heavy sigh, “I’m a lawyer, an officer of the court--not to mention an elected official--and you’re a deputy sheriff, not a bail bondsman anymore. You may have felt that what you did to protect our little family was necessary and reasonable, given the individual you were dealing with--and fuck if I disagree with you--but you committed assault.”

 

“I shouldn’t have told you.” Emma didn’t know what she was more afraid of, her actions coming back to bite her in the ass or not shining brightly in Reginas’ eyes. 

 

“We’re not going to be one of those cop couples that keep secrets from each other. With honesty, it’s all or nothing.” 

 

Regina felt her love release a sigh as she nodded her head; “I fucked up.” Emma said. 

 

“We fucked up. I know you well enough to assume what you were going to do and I let you do it.”

 

“Can’t pretend I’m sorry, but I won’t do it again.” Regina stroked Emmas’ hair in reassurance. 

 

“Couldn’t ask for any more than that.” Regina replied. 

 

Emma began trailing kisses across Reginas’ stomach, starting at one hip, then along the bikini line stopping below her navel, then moving to the opposite hip and back to the center. Where the two threads touched Emma took a deep breath and blew a loud raspberry on Reginas’ belly, causing her to burst into high-pitched giggles that filled the room.

 

“I needed to do that. Today’s been too serious.” Emma said when Regina stopped laughing.

 

“Glad I could brighten your day.” Regina replied, wiping tears from her cheeks. “Now, did you get me naked just for a belly fart, or do you have something else in mind to ease your tension?” 

 

Emma parted the dark curls on Reginas’ mound and gently pushed back the hood of her clit. Emma slowly flicked at the swollen nub with her tongue, enjoying the gasps and moans Regina made. Emma reached up with one hand and teased Reginas’ mocha-colored nipple with her fingers while Regina played with her other breast.

 

“So good, you taste so good Queenie.” Emma said and placed a long, loving kiss on the stiff clit. “I wanna dive into your pussy. Can I? Can I fuck your pussy with my tongue?”

 

Regina whispered between pants, “Yes, oh yes.”

 

Emma pushed Reginas’ thighs as far apart as she could, licked juices off Reginas’ outer lips and inserted her tongue into the sweet pussy. Regina grabbed handfuls of bedsheet to prevent herself from flying off the bed.

 

“Oh, fuck!” Regina cried out when Emma used two fingers to scratch at her clit, which was now fully erect. “Oh, yes baby, yes!” Regina grabbed at her ankles to steady her legs from shaking and thrashing about. 

 

“Sit still, Queenie.” 

 

“Yes, baby I will.” Regina moaned. “I’ll be such a good queen.”

 

“You are a good queen.” Emma whispered and teased the pink clit with her fingers; flicking and making tiny circles around the nub, gently scratching the tip with her fingernail. Regina was becoming dizzy with pleasure and lost count of how many mini-orgasms she’d had already. “Let me kiss your crown.” Emma lowered her mouth to Reginas’ mound, opened wide and took her all in. Reginas’ jaw tensed to hold in screams while her leg muscles trembled to let go. 

 

“Rub me, baby, I wanna feel you on me!” Regina called out, causing Emma to release suction on Reginas’ clit; Emma crawled up and scissored Reginas’ spread open pussy, bucking her furiously with her own. Regina reached out with a greedy hand and tried to grab Emmas’ breast, but at this angle was only able to touch underboob. “Oh, oh!” Reginas’ pelvic muscles tightened and something akin to an electric shock traveled from one side of her pelvis to the other, taking her consciousness with it. After Regina floated slowly back to herself she curled against Emma, who was now lying on her side. 

 

“Did you come?” Regina said softly and kissed Emmas’ shoulder. “Emma?” The blond didn’t respond, she was too busy snoring. 

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

 

Henry, Neal and Felix met at their usual lunch table in the cafeteria before school started. They were trying not to nod off as the breakfast crowd paid for their food and sat down. The boys were a variation of a theme: sleep deprived.

 

“It’s too bright in here.” Felix complained, shielding his eyes from light.

 

“I hate my phone.” Henry said. “It woke me at six.”

 

“I have a headache.” Neal said, rubbing his temples. “I told Papa about it and asked if I could stay home.”

 

“What’d he say?” Henry asked.

 

“He said he knew I was up late and to take two Tylenol and suffer.”

 

“That sucks.” Felix said. “Why didn’t you sleep in?” Felix asked Henry, a little too much snap in his voice.

 

“Because Moms were running around the house getting ready for work and I couldn’t get back to sleep once the alarm went off, okay?” Henry responded. 

 

“Oh.” Felix said, “In my house it’s just me and Dad. A lot quieter.” Felix looked around the cafeteria and scowled, “It’s too noisy in here, why do they have to be so loud?” He inserted his earbuds into his ears to muffle the students’ conversations and clatter of dishes.

 

“Listen to you guys,” Roland said as he approached the table, placing a tray heaped with food on the table, “bitchin’ about your aches like a bunch of old men.” He waved a slice of breakfast pizza at them, “You want some iron to keep up your strength? Some Aspercreme for your pains?”

 

“I’ll kick your Aspercreme if you don’t be quiet.” Felix said, wondering how someone could be chipper on roughly five hours of sleep.

 

Roland dunked chunks of sweet sausage into a small cup of syrup that came with his French Toast. “Doubtful. You’re just jealous that unlike you, I get by on less than twelve hours of sleep a night.”

 

“What’s the least amount of sleep you can go on,” Henry asked and stole a piece of pineapple from Rolands’ fruit cup, “and still function?” 

 

Roland chewed on the question and his pizza, “Four hours.”

 

“That’s how long of a nap I’m gonna take when I get home.” Felix said. 

 

“Wish I could,” Henry complained, “I have to help clean the house for Thanksgiving. I get that the dining room and kitchen have to be clean for company, but why do I have to clean my room? Nobody’s gonna go in there!”

 

“So you’re staying put?” Roland asked. “I’m going to a tournament.”

 

“What? No turkey?” Felix asked, shocked, “No pie?”

 

“Don’t like pie.” Roland said around a mouthful of cinnamon roll.

 

“What about you, Neal?” Henry asked as he grabbed a shrink-wrapped chocolate muffin from Rolands’ plate. “Home or away?”

 

“Staying put, my aunt and her boyfriend are coming over.”

 

“So you’ll have lots of leftovers.” Felix said.

 

“Not really, we don’t do Thanksgiving. They might be citizens now but neither of my parents grew up here.”

 

Felixs’ mouth hung open to reveal half-eaten scrambled egg chunks he’d plucked from Rolands’ tray. “No turkey? No pie?” He turned to Henry. “But you’re having turkey and pie, right? You said you’re having company. Tell me you’re gonna eat like a normal person?”

 

“Why does this bother you so much?” Henry asked. “People can celebrate any way they want.”

 

Felix wanted to tell his friends the truth, that his mom wasn’t coming back and Dad had been leaving work early to go to meetings; his world had been stretched out of shape for a while (not that it was a great shape to begin with) but now it was becoming unrecognizable. 

 

“Turkey and pie hold the universe together.” He responded.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

 

Regina looked at the state of Sprats’ Grocery Store; it was hip to jowl shoppers and every aisle was crowded with carts. Thankfully she had shopped for most of the menu several days before and was there to pick up a last-minute item: beer. Emma had sent her a request by text for said item just after she left for the station but without further instructions; no brand name, no particular type, whether it should come in bottles, cans or a keg. That left Regina staring at shelf after shelf of beers ranging from ‘so thick it’s served by the slice’ artisan to ‘it requires a warning label for causing liver cancer’ swill. She sent Emma a text but received no answer. She tried calling David, but was directed to voicemail. “To hell with it.” Regina said to herself, grabbing three different mid-priced six packs. “If they don’t work we can give them to Graham.”

 

Regina pulled into the Ten Items or Less lane and waited behind three other customers, an elderly woman with twenty tiny cans of cat food, Tom Clark from the pharmacy (he held a produce bag full of jalapenos, two pounds of bacon and a box of latex gloves), and wedged between them was Dr. Zelena Forrest who was huffing loudly and tapping her foot impatiently. The line moved a foot as the cat food lady finished her transaction and left the line. Zelena gave a gasp of disgust as the woman slowly left the line.

 

“Finally, I thought she’d never leave!” Zelena lifted the green plastic shopping basket onto the belt and unloaded her order. “She had multiples of the same item, that doesn’t count as ten or less. You should’ve made her go to another lane!” The complaints fell on deaf ears as the cashier smiled a plastic smile and pulled items across the scanner. The transaction came to a halt as the cashier scanned a bottle of red wine and a prompt for a date of birth flashed onto the screen.

 

“I’ll need to scan your i d, please.” The cashier asked and waited...and waited. 

 

“You’re joking.” Zelena deadpanned. 

 

“Nope. I need to see your drivers’ license, ma’am.” 

 

“You can tell I’m over eighteen, obviously.”

 

“Yes, ma’am, but I need to scan the license.” The cashier explained for the twentieth time in her five hour shift. 

 

“April twenty-four, nineteen-seventy-seven.” Zelena barked and gestured at the screen, “That’s zero four, two four, one nine seven seven.”

 

“The state doesn’t want us to type in the date.”

 

“You’re not serious!” Zelena screeched as the cashier put the bottle of wine in a returns bin under her register. “Do you know who I am? Is this what Sprats’ calls customer service?” The cashier looked like she was counting down the minutes until her shift was over as Zelena abandoned the rest of her order and stormed out the door. 

 

The line advanced another foot, Mr. Clark placed his items on the belt in a neat pile and placed the divider between his order and Reginas’. His transaction was completed in less than three minutes. When Regina approached her license was ready for scanning. 

 

“Hope she has something at home to eat.” the cashier said as she double bagged Reginas’ items.

 

‘Probably a frozen kitten dinner.’ Regina thought. 

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

 

Zelena pulled out of the parking spot without checking her mirrors and nearly ran over a heavyset woman pushing a cart with one hand and carrying a carseat with the other. She turned in the drivers’ seat and mouthed ‘sorry’ to the woman, who paused long enough to give her the finger. 

 

“Happy Thanksgiving to you too, bitch.” Zelena grumbled and waited for pedestrian traffic to pass before she tried reversing from the space. “Shit!” she scowled upon realizing that her dinner was being returned to the shelves along with her wine. Not wanting to go back inside Zelena opted for a plan B: Peter Peters Pump and Pizza. It wasn’t so much the dinner she would miss, it was the wine. The bottle she tried to buy was the same wine Zelena served Andrew when he came over for a little playtime. He liked it (or at least he hadn’t complained about it being a five dollar wine) the first time she tickled him with a feather duster and ordered him to kiss her boots. Another time when she bound his wrists with ribbon Zelena poured him a large serving of the same wine via her mouth. Months later when Andrew confided (why are people always telling her their problems?) that he wanted fewer choices she served him that wine before locking him in a dog cage. He took the wine, why didn’t he take what else she offered? 

 

‘I wonder what that little librarian has to offer besides easy-access skirts.’ Zelena wondered. ‘Vanilla style is alright sometimes, but Andrew wanted more. Or more but with less? How can he have less and be happy?’

 

Zelena pulled into the parking lot of Peters’ gas station, walked in, searched the stores’ limited alcohol selection and found a knockoff of Two Buck Chuck; it would probably taste like rubbing alcohol and dishwater, but as long as she got a buzz, Zelena didn’t care. She didn’t have Andrew and now she didn’t have the wine that reminded her of him, so, full of self-pity Zelena went to the deli counter and ordered an extra large flatbread with chicken and spicy Italian sausage. When the pimple-faced cook informed her the ovens were on the fritz and only cold sandwiches were available, Zelena wanted to cry. She settled on a club sandwich; on the way to the main counter to pay Zelena pulled her license from her wallet (she didn’t want to go through that tragedy again) and stood in line to pay. 

 

‘I’ve reached out to that brat of his,’ Zelena continued in her head, ‘but he won’t bite. She wondered what else it would take to get Andrews’ attention, to let him know she wanted him back. Sexy, scented panties didn’t work. She had ordered a shock collar, but had to return it because it was sized for a Mastiff, which would be fine if she wanted Andrew to wear the collar as a belt. ‘Maybe instead of giving and going to him, I should take and have him come to me?’ Zelena turned the idea over in her mind all the way home.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-

 

“Is he picking you up or are you driving out?” Ruby asked while wrapping silverware. It was after the lunch rush, Charlotte was refilling salt and pepper shakers while being interrogated by her granddaughter. “Is your outfit ready? Do you have knee-highs? Did you clean off your shoes? Tell me you’re wearing pretty shoes, not those god-awful orthopedic oxfords.” 

 

“Never you mind about me, are you ready for tomorrow?”

 

Ruby waved at her grannies’ concerns, “I’ll be fine.”

 

Charlotte huffed, “I’d better not come back to find my life’s work a pile of ashes. And don’t open the patio, the temperatures may drop during the day and if that happens you’ll have crabby customers coming inside looking for a place to sit.” Charlotte rubbed the back of her neck and filled another shaker. “Dinner’s at two,” Charlotte figured the math in her head, “I’ll get up at four, work the breakfast and part of the lunch crowd…”

 

“No, Granny.” Ruby turned and pointed a spoon in Charlottes direction. “I don’t want you here.”

 

“Excuse the hell out of you,” Charlotte turned and crossed her arms over her heavy bosom. “but whose name is on this building?” 

 

Ruby approached Charlotte with her hands raised, “I’d like to see you relax and take the day off.” Charlotte grumbled something about not having a day off since before she was legal age to work. “Tomorrow is an important day and you deserve it.”

 

Charlotte harrumphed, “I’ll just stop in long enough…” she began.

 

“Granny, if I see you stick a toe in here I’ll chase you out with a broom.” Ruby threatened and crossed her arms, a mirror image of her granny. 

 

“God you’re stubborn!” Charlotte said and accepted her fate.

 

“I learned from the best.” Ruby nodded and smirked.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==-

 

“Can we order from Shang’s tomorrow? And tonight?” Neal asked Belle. They were in the kitchen of the pink mansion waiting for Andrew to come home. Belle was pouring herself a cup of tea as Neal rapidly fired questions at her. “When’re Aunt Lacey and Keith gonna be here? Are they staying with us? How long are they gonna be visiting? I want stir fried beef with bean sprouts.” Finally he stopped speaking. “What are you waiting for?” 

 

“For you to run out of breath.” Belle stirred sugar into her tea. “First, your aunt and Keith will be here until Sunday morning. We’ll have an early dinner tomorrow, then she and I will spend time online and in stores shopping for Christmas. And I haven’t been told if they’d like to stay over or stay at Granny’s B and B, so that’s up in the air. Lastly, I’m okay with Shang’s for dinner.”

 

“Okay.” Neal sounded disappointed that he didn’t get all the questions answered yesterday. 

 

“Have you been working on Lacey’s tattoo design? You know, she wants to get it this weekend.”

 

“She does?” Neal asked as the front door was opened and Andrew walked in. “Can I go with her?” 

 

“Go where and with whom?” Andrew asked as he entered the kitchen. He ruffled his sons’ unruly hair and gave his wife a kiss.

 

“I’m gonna go with Aunt Lacey when she’s getting tattooed and we’re having Shang’s for dinner!” Neal let out in one breath.

 

Andrew wondered why excited kids needed to sound like auctioneers. He shook his head for clarity, “First, I’m in favor of chinese for dinner; I’ve been in the mood for sweet and sour spare ribs. Second, you need to ask to attend, not announce that you are going and the answer is no.”

 

“Papa!” Neal groaned. “Why not?” 

 

“They’re unsanitary.” Andrew replied, hoping his reasoning would work.

 

“How would you know?” Neal asked.

 

“Yes, my love, how would you know?” Belle smiled with a telling look.

 

Andrew stammered and huffed. “It’s what I’ve heard.”

 

Neal pulled his phone from his back pocket, once open, his fingers flew across the keyboard. “Really?” He said, showing his Papa pictures of tattoo parlor interiors. “That looks like a dentist’s office to me.”

 

“Let me see that picture.” Belle asked and clicked the picture, which was a link to the shops’ website. “That’s Magic Ink; it’s down by the docks.”

 

“Of course it is.” Andrew stated, wrinkling his nose as if he’d smelled something rank. “They’re always in seedy parts of town.”

 

“Again, darling,” Belle asked with a growing grin and handed back Nea’ls phone, “How would you know?” Andrew looked like he was trying not to squirm. Belle looked between the two men in her life. “I’ll tell you what Neal, let your Papa and I discuss this while you call Shangs.”

 

“Okay.” Neal felt like he had, maybe not died on this hill, but was definitely wounded. “You want your usual?”

 

“Yes, thank you.” She turned to Andrew. “Come upstairs, please.” Belle went up the stairs first with Andrew trailing behind, enjoying watching the swish of her pleated skirt. They entered the master bedroom and she locked the door behind them. “Remove your shirt.” 

 

If she asked, Andrew would strip down to his royal blue silk bikini underwear. Andrew peeled off his layers, placed them on the bed and revealed his naked torso to Belle. She gazed appreciatively at his body; Andrew wasn’t a strapping man, burly as a gym rat, rather he was lean, taut and controlled. She was reminded of a finely tuned violin. 

 

She said and turned him profile to the full-length mirror. “See that?” Belle tapped his shoulder. “What is it?”

 

“A lizard, my lady.”

 

“Did it show up out of the blue one day? Is it a birthmark? Were you attacked by art school students?”

 

“No, it’s a tattoo.”

 

Belle placed a hand over her heart, feigning shock and revulsion. “Mercy! Where did you get it?”

 

“In a tattoo parlor in Glasgow.” Andrew hung his head low, “It was nineteen-eighty; that parlor was filthy, it’s a miracle I didn’t get Hepatitis. I know where you’re going with this, Belle.”

 

“You think so. Andrew, my love, are you afraid Neal will want ink of his own?”

 

Andrew looked up, “Yes.” She looked at him with big blue eyes that saw right through him. “No.”

 

Belle hopped onto the bed, tapped the mattress and Andrew sat next to her. “What then? Talk to me, Andrew.”

 

“I was about Neal’s age when I started doing what I had to do to get out of Maryhill.” Andrew began and stepped onto the broken cobblestones of Memory Lane. “My aunts--Nellie, Gladys--and I all living in a twelve-by-twenty foot room that leaked when it rained; you could see the water coming down the walls like tears. And this was Scotland so it seemed as if it was always raining. You know we slept with the lights on to keep the rats away? I joined a gang when I was thirteen. Gave cops hell and fought other gangs because we wanted to take our anger and fear of being poor out on someone. When my aunts found out I had been cut with a straight razor in a fight, they whipped my ass with a belt until I couldn’t sit down.”

 

“Maybe that’s why spanking is a hard limit.” Belle offered.

 

“Most likely.” Andrew nodded and continued, “After that I’d break into buildings and if there was stuff there--small household stuff like irons, kettles, pots and pans--I’d sell it to a second-hand shop. I remember fear, hopelessness. Would we have enough food to feed three people? Do we have enough coal to heat the room all the time or would we have to only heat at night?”

 

“So what does Neal watching my sister get inked have to do with this?”

 

“I don’t want him doing what I did. End up like me.”

 

Belle placed her tiny hand atop his. “You turned out okay.”

 

“I was lucky. I found out I had a head for business and saw that the more valuable an item was to a person, the more money they were willing to pay. And realized early enough that I could do it legally.”

 

“Are you afraid Neal will have to live that life?” Belle asked and under her own hand she felt Andrews’ hand shaking. “I take that as a yes.” She smoothed her husband’s hair with her hand. “Andrew, what does Neal have that you didn’t at his age?”

 

“A home that isn’t a condemned building. Food when he wants it. A life with certainty and without violence.”

 

“Anything else?”

 

“Friends. I had my aunts and now I have you.” Andrew released a breath and let the past slip away. “I know, I was projecting.” Andrew sighed and looked at Belle, “Not only are you my lady wife, but therapist as well.”

 

“All part of the job.” Belles’ text notification dinged and she looked at the screen. “Why don’t you tell Neal the news and I’ll trade texts with Lacey.” She watched Andrew get dressed, minus the vest and exit the room. She texted her sister.

 

B: *What’s up?

 

L: *Running late. Won’t roll in until after midnight. 

 

B: *What’s keeping you?

 

L: *Picked up a couple of games for cash. Good fishing. Had to beat feet when they found out I was semi-pro. 

 

B: *I’m frowning.

 

L: *Sorry, baby sis. 

 

B: *You’re older by eleven minutes. I can make up the guest bedroom and wait up for you.

 

L: *Don’t worry, we’ll stay at the local B & B. 

 

B:*Be careful, call before you come over. 

 

L:*Love ya.

 

B:*Love ya back.

 

Belle changed from her work clothes into a pair of grey lounge pants, dark blue tank top, chunky blue striped sweater. She was just slipping into a pair of black fuzzy slippers embroidered with red roses when, from the hall, came a loud shout of delight.

 

“Thank you, Papa!” Neal shouted. 

 

When Belle opened her bedroom door she found Neal throwing his arms around Andrews’ neck. 

 

“Remember,” Andrew warned, once he regained the ability to breathe, “no touching anything, no interrupting the artist and no fainting; you’re too big for me to carry to the car.”

 

“I won’t!” Neal said repeatedly and reached for his phone. “I gotta tell the guys!” As Neal ran to his room to group chat, Andrew rubbed his sore neck and gazed at Belle.

 

“You look comfy.”

 

“You’re wearing too many clothes.” Belle stated. “Get comfy with me.”

 

“I’ll wear what my lady wishes.” Andrew said and followed Belle into the bedroom where they had a cozy make-out/snuggling session until the front door buzzed. Andrew got up and looked out the bedroom window; a delivery van was in the driveway. “Shang’s is here.”

 

Belle got up from the bed and straightened her sweater to cover her erect nipples. She pulled money from Andrews’ wallet, stepped back into her slippers and opened the bedroom door. “Food first,” Belle said, tossing the comment over her shoulder as she exited into the hall, “me later.” 

 

An impish grin grew across Andrews’ lips as he followed his wife down the stairs and into the kitchen where Neal was pulling plastic to-go containers from a bag on the kitchen island. When the three settled in the living room with their meals--Belle and Andrew cuddled on the couch, Neal in the recliner--Neal spoke up.

 

“How come we don’t celebrate Thanksgiving like other people? We never have turkey and pie. Relatives hardly come over, except for Grampa and Aunt Lacey.” He said, pointing at Belle. “And I don’t think anybody from your side has ever visited, Papa.”

 

“Why do you ask?” Andrew said after removing the last bite of meat from a spare rib. 

 

“It’s just, well, the guys were talking about plans for this weekend and I thought Felix was gonna have a stroke when I told him we don’t celebrate. Henry’s gonna have a huge get-together. Is it because you didn’t grow up American?”

 

Belle and Andrew looked at each other, wondering how to proceed. Belle started, “That’s part of it. And we’re, you know, reserved.” 

 

Later that night after a round of soft love-making Andrew rolled off of Belle and thought about what his son asked. “I’m not unsociable, you know. Put me in a room full of fellow landlords and antique dealers and I’m the life of the party.”

 

Belle chuckled, “Oh, yes. You’ll dance around wearing only a hat.” She snorted through her nose. “Actually I’d like to see that.” She held her arms open, inviting Andrew into her embrace; Andrew placed his head on her breast and she was silent for several minutes. He knew she wasn’t asleep because she was twirling his hair around her fingers. 

 

“Penny for your thoughts.”

 

“How did I break through your walls?” Belle wondered aloud. 

 

“You mean why did I let you in? Why are you my Mistress?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I know you’ll never hurt or belittle me about my need to be submissive. After, you know,” he nodded his head in the direction of the elephant in the room, “I tried to do without, hoping the need would go away. It was like going without oxygen, if you don’t breathe you die. Then after we had several conversations and dates, you proved to be the most trustworthy person I’ve ever met. After that I couldn’t help myself.” Andrew and Belle remained entwined until they fell asleep.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

 

“Oh, my fucking God!” Astrid shrieked and pounded the mattress with the hand not holding the vibrator. Leroy was lying beside her, sucking her nipples and performing magic in her vagina with his fingers. It was Thanksgiving morning, Leroy and Astrid had been cleaning the house and preparing for hosting the Miner family get-together when they decided to take a “fun break” and put their energy to better use. 

 

“So tight, so, so tight.” Leroy whispered, “come for me, that’s it. Love how you look when you come.”

 

Astrid replied, “Anngghhh,” or something to that effect as she was hit with another orgasm. They were having sex once a day during the work week now to make a baby, two to three times on the weekends. Officially they were fucking more now than they were as teenagers. “Oh, fuck me! Yes!” Astrid screamed and welcomed her sixth orgasm. “For God’s sake, fuck me!” In a moment of conscious thought Astrid felt grateful that their house had triple pane windows, otherwise the neighbors might think Leroy was performing an exorcism. She dropped the vibrator so Leroy could climb on top of her (but not before placing a pillow under her round bottom. 

 

Leroy slapped his semi-erect penis against Astrid’s spread pussy to get hard. When he was no longer flaccid, he slid into Astrid nice and easy, enjoying the feeling of being held tight. “Baby, you feel so good around me.” To enhance Leroy’s sensation, Astrid took a deep breath and tightened the Kegel muscles; Leroy’s eyes rolled back in their sockets. He began thrusting, slow and irregular at first, like he was feeling his way around; then he propped himself up and wrapped Astrid’s legs around his middle, pushing as hard as he could. 

 

“Oh, yes, baby go deep.” Astrid whispered as he grunted and groaned. “Fill me.” Leroy thrust for several minutes before he felt his testicles draw up tight, his muscles pulled taut like a bow and he came. Leroy stayed atop of Astrid, any movement causing come aftershocks that made him quiver. 

 

He fell off Astrid and lay in a hairy heap next to her. “You know,” he said once he could think straight, “if we do have a kid, we won’t be able to fuck like this very often.”

 

“Yes, I know. We’ll be too busy keeping an eye on the baby than chasing each other.” 

 

“Speaking of keeping an eye on things, how’s the new camera working in the classroom?” Leroy asked, “It’s pointed away from the wall this time?” Astrid nodded slowly, as she felt a nap sapping her strength. 

 

“It’s okay. Resolution’s good. I think I got something the other day.”

 

“Oh?” Leroy’s curiosity piqued. “Whaddya see?”

 

“Movement. Somebody was trying to throw something at the paintings around the door. Couldn’t tell who they were…” Astrid paused to yawn loudly. “Just a shadow. Is what I’m doing illegal?” Astrid asked, as if it just dawned on her that she could be putting her job in jeopardy.

 

“Most likely, but I don’t care.” Leroy said while drifting off, but then a thought jolted him awake. “You do turn it off when I drop by, right?”

 

That thought haunted the couple as Leroy’s brothers arrived with food and supplies to cook it with. Clark brought lobster and bacon stuffed jalapeno bites and tissues. Delbert signed that his items were two dozen blueberry muffins with crumbly topping. Walter was too worn out to cook, so he brought a variety of fresh fruits (apples, bananas, grapes, strawberries,) crackers and cheeses (mozzarella, cheddar, swiss.) Barry had whipped up three pies--apple, pumpkin and cherry--and picked up vanilla ice cream as a topping. Astrid and Leroy were providing the meats: crab cakes and puffs, deep fried turkeys and glazed hams--there was some disagreement between the brothers how close the fryer should be to the garage; Leroy declared that “When you’re hosting, you can put boiling hot grease as close to your house as you like.” Daniel sent a text saying after he closed the vets’ office he’d swing by his apartment to grab his contributions to the feast: butternut squash, steamed green beans, chopped cranberries with oranges. Alex broke from his usual uber-healthy diet and made a starch-lovers delight: mashed potatoes with gravy (Yes, it was from a jar, but still counted as gravy.), candied carrots, sweet potatoes drowned in butter and brown sugar, three loaves of homemade french bread. 

 

Astrid was in the kitchen filling the coffee pot with water when Leroy walked in. He came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist and rubbed her flat belly.

 

“Would it be okay…” She said, unsure if she wanted to hear the words herself, “if this was all the family we had?”

 

His answer was three words. 

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

 

“Hey, Dad,” Felix asked, a DVD case in each hand, “how about a movie marathon? It’s been a while since we’ve had one.” 

 

Malcolm was sitting on his bed in the master bedroom, reading some papers. When Felix entered the room he covered them with a pillow.

 

“Yeah, sure. But do you want to eat first?”

 

“Did you make a turkey dinner?”

 

“No, but I know where we can get one.” Malcolm offered and the two of them headed to Grannys’ for dinner. Felix devoured his turkey with mashed potatoes while Malcolm pushed his chicken pot pie around on his plate. 

 

“Not that hungry?” Felix asked, shoving another forkful of turkey in his mouth.

 

“I guess my eyes are bigger than my stomach.” He waved Ruby over. “Could I get this to go, please?” Malcolms’ stomach was forming a knot before they left the house for the restaurant, now it resembled a macrame plant hanger. Is there ever a good time to tell your kid that you’re divorcing mom?

 

“Sure thing.” Ruby said and went to the bar to get a styrofoam clam box from under the counter.  
“Here you go. How’s your holiday going?”

 

“Pretty good. We’re gonna watch movies all night.” Felix smiled. 

 

“Nice. Which ones?” 

 

“I thought we’d start off with the ‘Three Stooges’ and then ‘Army of Darkness.’ After that, it’s dads’ turn to choose.”

 

“Well,” Ruby placed the check on the table and wondered about kids these days, “enjoy!”

 

Felix looked so pleased with this bit of normalcy that Malcolm thought, ‘It can wait until tomorrow.’

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

 

‘Cologne or no cologne?’ KP thought to himself as his hand hovered over the bottle of Brut. ‘The last time I used too much and drove home with the windows open.’ He drew his hand back. ‘Best to go without.’ 

 

KP pulled items from the closet and drawers and laid them on the bed. A pair of black chinos, a deep cherry red turtleneck, black socks, black slip on sneakers. This might be a dinner with his family, but KP saw it as a date and wanted to look good for Charlotte. He opened his underwear drawer, pulled on a pair of dark blue boxer briefs and got dressed. After stepping into his shoes, KP went into the kitchen to make sure everything needed for dinner was already made and ready to eat, prepped and ready to cook or on the way. He picked up his phone from the kitchen counter where it was charging. A text from his grandson Billy saying he was on the way and bringing a couple of different types of wine to have before, with or after dinner. ‘That’s fine.’ KP said to himself, ‘A glass or two with dinner shouldn’t give me any problems.’ He hoped his doctor was wrong about ‘brewers’ droop.’

 

The phone rang and KP checked the screen. He smiled, it was his other daughter.

 

“Ariel! Baby, how are you?” 

 

“I’m fine, Daddy.” Ariel said. “How are you doing?”

 

“Waiting for everybody to show up.” He said, putting extra guilt on the word ‘everybody.’

 

“I’m sorry I won’t be there, we’re having trouble with one of the dolphin sanctuaries and I just can’t get away.”

 

“So, fish before family.”

 

“Daddy, we’ve been through this before. Dolphins are mammals, not fish.”

 

KP chuckled, “I know, I’m just messin’ with you. And I’m gonna miss you.”

 

“You’ll have plenty of company, what with Ursula and Billy coming over. And your girlfriend’s gonna be there too, right?” Ariel asked and was met with silence. “Daddy? What’s wrong?”

 

“That girl.” KP sighed into the phone. 

 

“I take it you mean Ursula.” 

 

“Yeah.” KP adjusted the phone and made himself comfortable. “She’s been fussing.”

 

“About what?”

 

“When I told Ursula that I invited Charlotte out to meet everyone--minus you, missy--she got mad at me. Resentful, like Charlotte was invading. I don’t know how to put it.”

 

“Yes you do, Daddy.” Ariel said, easing her father along.

 

KP sighed and wondered when his baby girl got so perceptive. “Ursula is afraid of Charlotte taking your Mama’s place.”

 

“That’s pretty much what Ursula said the other day when she called me.”

 

“What did you say?”

 

“That you would never forget Mama and you deserve to be happy.”

 

“And how did your sister respond?”

 

“She puffed up, turned purple and refused to see reason. You know how she gets.”

 

KP remembered his oldest daughter’s temper tantrums of long ago, “She didn’t throw herself down on the floor and hold her breath?”

 

“No. I think she’s moved beyond that.” Ariel laughed, “But I think she’s scared.”

 

“We need to talk.” KP realized.

 

“And I need to go because my colleague wants me to check out the enclosure repairs. I love you Daddy.”

 

“I love you too, Ariel.” 

 

After hanging up with his youngest daughter, KP checked the time; his problematic offspring would arrive first--good, he could talk to her in private--, then his grandson and finally Charlotte. Except KP forgot that holiday traffic is a sapient being, slowing down at will or flowing freely where there’s usually heavy congestion and everyone arrived at once. 

 

‘Well, hell,’ KP thought to himself, ‘there goes that plan.’ 

 

“Daddy!” Ursula said as she crossed the threshold. “I could smell the turkey and mac and cheese from the driveway. Where do you want the deviled eggs?” She gestured with a foil covered tray.

 

“In the fridge for now. Billy, how’s my boy?” He gave his grandson a hug as the younger man wiped his feet on the entry mat.

 

“On duty, so don’t be surprised if I dine and dash. I brought carrots, spinach, cognac and wine, want them in the kitchen?”

 

“Yes. We’ll start steaming vegetables in a minute.”

 

“Got any coffee?” Billy called from the kitchen.

 

“Already cooking.” KP turned to Charlotte, “You look beautiful.” He admired Charlotte in her elegant two-piece red pantsuit. She had gathered the hem of the long jacket in her hand and was worrying it into a knot. “Come inside so I can introduce you. Or did you all trade names on the porch?”

 

“Well, we kinda know each other already, informally that is.” Charlotte said as he guided her into the living room. “Your grandson comes in at least twice a week for lunch and your daughter,” Charlotte peeked around KPs form to see Ursula watching them and tapping her fingernails on the arm of the couch. “She orders food to go on nights the animal shelter has board meetings.” She took tentative steps toward the seat across from Ursula, who looked as if she’d like to poke at Charlotte with something sharp and pointy. “I brought cake.” Charlotte held up an aluminum cake cover with dings and scratches. “You as nervous as I am?”

 

“No.” KP replied, trying to be strong but shaking under his sweater. “Yes. Let’s get a drink to calm our nerves.”

 

“I’m right behind you.” Charlotte said.

 

“Stay there, I’ll get it. There’s a bit of the red left over from dinner the other night.” KP said, carrying the cake into the kitchen, leaving Charlotte under the disapproving glare of Ursula. KP returned with two glasses of red wine and handed one to Charlotte, who took a large gulp. 

 

“So, I have good news.” KP began and turned to Charlotte. “I’ve finally hired a disc jockey...excuse me, radio personality, as they’re called these days.” 

 

Ursula leaned forward in her seat. “Are they any good? Are they what you were looking for?” she asked.

 

“His voice is as smooth and silky as Satan’s promises. And a personality that fills a room. He’ll be great on locations.”

 

“What’s his name?” Ursula asked.

 

“Antoine Facilier.” KP enunciated, slowly drawing out each syllable, and sipped his wine.

 

“So he’ll go by ‘Tony’?” Ursula wondered, paying attention to her father and trying to ignore the woman sitting next to him. 

 

“Nope. He’s called Doctor Facilier.”

 

“Is that a show-biz name? Like Doctor Johnny Fever?” Charlotte asked, mistakenly bringing Ursula’s attention back to her.

 

“No. He really holds a doctorate in English Literature and Music Theory. That’s what I want for MAGIK98, knowledge that makes the listener lean in as well as fantastic music.”

 

“What’s he look like?” Charlotte asked and wished Ursula would stop glaring daggers at her.

 

“Skinny. Any thinner and you could see right through him.” KP offered. “Until the interview all I’d seen of him was his headshot. He steps into my office and I’m thinking ‘Somebody get that man a sandwich.’” KP looked down at Charlottes’ glass, “Do you want a refill?”

 

“No thanks.” Charlotte said, wishing she hadn’t drunk the wine so quickly. Her knees felt watery and she wanted to lean into the couch. Actually, she wanted to lean against KP; he looked so comfy. “Maybe some coffee instead?”

 

“Yes.” Ursula drawled. “You want to be sober for the drive home.” 

 

KP cleared his throat in the general direction of his daughter. Charlotte ground her dentures together and thought ‘Meet the family, he said, it’ll be fun he said.’ KP rose to go into the kitchen, but Charlotte stopped him. “I’ll get it myself, thanks.” she said, taking deep breaths as she went.

 

“Actually,” KP said, following her into the kitchen, “I have to start steaming carrots and wilting spinach.” He called back to Ursula, “You and Billy can set the table.”

 

“Hey, Pawpaw, you’re gonna need to set up another pot.” Billy gestured to the dregs sitting in the bottom of the coffee carafe with his travel coffee mug. 

 

“That,” KP pointed to the coffee pot, “was half full.”

 

“Yeah, I know. But now it’s empty.” 

 

“Go help your mama set the table.” KP pointed to the dining room. “Use the good china. Looks like you’ll have to wait a bit for a fresh pot.” KP said, pulling pots, pans and lids from under the counter.

 

“That’s okay, I can wait.” Charlotte said and leaned against the counter. Silence stood between KP and Charlotte like an unwelcome guest as he prepared the vegetables and water. The coffee machine churned and burbled, filling the silence. Charlotte stood on one foot, slipped off one of her shoes and groaned. 

 

“Something wrong?” KP asked as he removed the turkey from the oven and set it on the counter to rest, the earthy aroma of sage and apple filled the kitchen. He watched Charlotte balance on one foot while rubbing the other.

 

“I thought I could get away with wearing these,” Charlotte said, wiggling her toes, “because I forgot to buy new shoes to go with this outfit. I thought, these should be okay, right? They still look good. No scuffs and the leather’s in decent shape. Problem is, my feet have gotten wider since Ronald Reagan was president and now I’m being tortured.”

 

“The things women do for fashion.” KP chuckled as he poured baby carrots into a steamer basket. 

 

“Don’t give me that.” Charlotte scolded, “I’ve seen plenty of men try to fit twenty pounds of potatoes into a ten pound sack.” The couple laughed, loosening the tension. 

 

“Stop abusing your feet and borrow my house slippers, then.” KP offered but Charlotte shook her head.

 

“That act of domesticity would drive your daughter over the edge.”

 

KP nodded. “I meant to talk to her before everyone else showed up.” 

 

“Speaking of that, is this it? Just four of us?”

 

“Ariel’s in Florida with her husband Eric and the rest of my family are in Michigan.”

 

“Up to their hairlines in snow.” Charlotte noted. “What about Ursula? She married, divorced?”

 

“Widowed.” KP said, lifting the lid off the carrots and tested their tenderness with a fork. “Fishing boat accident.”

 

“I’m sorry for her and Billy.”

 

“That man was more married to the sea than to Ursula anyway. Carrots are almost done, I’m gonna start wilting spinach.”

 

“Blech.” Charlotte said and made a face. “I won’t touch it.”

 

“The way I make it, you’ll be asking for seconds.”

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

KP nodded and pulled the cognac Billy had brought with him out of the pantry. “I’m gonna make a sauce with this.”

 

“We’ll see.” 

 

Charlotte was expecting dinner to be served buffet style since there were only four people in attendance, but KP decided to pull out all the good china for the occasion. China bowls with lids held vegetables, Ursula’s deviled eggs were placed in neat rows on a rectangular serving platter. The apple dumplings were served as individual portions on their own little plate; when Charlotte mistook an empty plate for a saucer for her coffee, Ursula smirked. A 13x9x2 glass pan of homemade mac and cheese weighed down one end of the table. The turkey was placed at the head of the table to be carved. When Charlotte offered to put her chocolate cake on the table, Ursula suddenly insisted there wasn’t enough room and it was hidden away in the kitchen like a poor relation. KP put so much food on Charlottes’ plate she could hardly see the blue fish pattern on the dish. 

 

“I hope your dishwasher is working,” Charlotte asked KP as he placed a serving of wilted spinach with cognac sauce on her plate, “otherwise we’ll have to wash these by hand.” She raised her left eyebrow at the limp greenery. 

 

“Try it. This way and in a salad with strawberries is the only way I eat spinach now.” KP said.

 

Charlotte looked doubtfully at the spinach, but didn’t want to be rude, so she dug in. It resembled canned spinach and she thought of the ‘phlop’ sound it made being dumped into a bowl, but once she took a bite she nodded. 

 

“You’re right.” Charlotte said, “The sauce makes all the difference.”

 

“Told you.” KP said.

 

“But a bit too fancy to put on the diners’ menu, even for the holidays.” Charlotte said, taking another bite.

 

“You’ll have to come out here so I can make it for you.” KP said as Ursula choked on some deviled egg. Billy patted her on the back as his mother held a cloth napkin to her mouth. After a couple of moments she stopped choking, cleared her throat and waved off his concern. 

 

“You want some water?” Charlotte offered.

 

“I’m fine.” Ursula looked like she’d rather die than accept help from Charlotte.

 

After dinner dishes were cleared and the dishwasher loaded, KP poured glasses of red wine for himself and Charlotte. “Take a load off.” he offered and patted the cushion on the sofa next to himself. “I want some time to digest before digging into desert.”

 

“What’d you bring, Charlotte?” Billy asked, taking a sip of coffee.

 

“Spiced Devil’s Food cake with chocolate icing.” Charlotte said as the men ‘oohed.’

 

“I’m looking forward to a slice.” KP said and smiled at Charlotte. “Share one with me?”

 

Charlotte glanced at Ursula; the woman’s eyes bulged like a bullfrog. Ursula sat down her coffee cup on the side table with more force than necessary and the liquid sloshed. “Maybe you ought to skip desert, Daddy. The Sugar does run in the family.”

 

“If that’s true,” Charlotte said, “maybe you shouldn’t have had three helpings of mac and cheese.” 

 

Billy stood up, “I’m gonna go check on...anything.” He said and retreated to the safety of the kitchen. 

 

“What’s bugging you? You’ve been glaring daggers at me since I arrived.” Charlotte crossed her arms across her chest and was met with silence. Ursula opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, looking like a fish gasping for air. 

 

“I don’t know how I feel about you and Daddy.” 

 

“Well, figure that out and stop giving me dirty looks.”

 

“I don’t mean to, it’s just that you’re not my Mother.” Tears were welling in Ursula’s eyes and she looked like she was about to ugly cry. “I see you and him together being happy and it reminds me of when she was alive and I miss her.”

 

“Figured it was that.” Charlotte said and offered Ursula a tissue from her purse. Ursula took it and blew her nose. “You wanna start again?”

 

“It’s only fair.” Ursula nodded and dried her eyes.

 

“Good.” Charlotte nodded.

 

From his cushion, KP heaved a sigh of relief. 

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

 

Earlier at the Mills-Swan home, Henry was texting his friends on group chat between chores.

 

*H: I’m bored. I’m the only kid here. 

 

*N: Feel your pain. Papa and Keith are talking about how hard it is to run a business. Belle and Aunt Lacey are shopping online and I’ve got nobody to talk to. Or they keep asking how’s school going. 

 

*F: First movie done, ‘Army of Darkness’ is next! 

 

*H: Did you ever get pie?

 

*F: Cherry with vanilla ice cream! Yay pie!

 

*R: Hey. What’d I miss?

*N: Not much. How’s the tournament?

 

*R: Cancelled at the last minute. Hardly anybody showed up. 

 

*H, N, F: That sucks.

 

*R: I’m hungry.

 

*H: Dude, when are you not? 

 

*F: I think he has a worm.

 

*R: I don’t have a worm. What are you guys eating for Thanksgiving?

 

*N: Shangs.

 

*F: Dinner at Granny’s. Popcorn during the movie.

 

*N: Heavy on the butter?

 

*R: If it ain’t drippin’ butter, it doesn’t count as popcorn.

 

*F: It’s drippin.

 

*H: Chinook salmon, turkey, sausage with apple stuffing, two kinds of pie, steamed green beans, mashed potatoes with gravy, green salad with tomatoes.

 

*R: I’m wiping drool off the phone.

 

*F: Can I come over? After the movie? I’ll bring popcorn.

 

*N: Papa wants to know why I’m weeping over my phone.

 

*H: I’ll ask if you guys can come over. 

 

Radio silence ensued for a few minutes while kids asked/pleaded/begged to attend Henry’s dinner. 

 

*H: Guys, they said yes! Anything to keep from hearing me whine about how alllooonnee I am. 

 

*R: Mom said okay, since we don’t even have pizza in the house. Should we bring anything? We can stop by a gas station for something.

 

*H: Appetite.

 

*R: I have that.

 

*N: Can we bring relatives?

 

*H: I’ll ask.

 

*N: *whispers to himself* Say yes.

 

*H: Emma said ‘The more the merrier.’

 

*N: *doing victory dance*

 

*F: Dad said no. 

 

*N, H, R: Dude?!

 

*F: Said he wants us to talk about something important. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.

 

*H: Think it might be because, you know?

 

*F: Maybe. Dunno. Probably. 

 

*R: Sucks, but that’s how it goes.

 

*H: Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think. 

 

*N: We’ll save you some pie.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

 

“How’s the fish coming along?” Emma asked and handed Henry the elder a beer.

 

“It’s coming.” Henry said, taking a sip of beer. “It takes longer to heat up the grill than it does to cook the fish. Still, I hope we have enough to feed fifteen people.”

 

The grill had been set up on the patio furthest from the house to keep the fish smell out of the house. “Between these and a sixteen pound bird, we probably will.” Emma said, looking at the filets on the grill. “Not everybody likes fish.”

 

“I figure the boys would eat more sweets than anything.” Henry said, remembering how the boys eyed the deserts in the kitchen. He placed his bottle on a metal picnic table. “I’ll need a platter here in a couple of minutes.”

 

“I’ll get it.” Emma offered and headed toward the house. “Want another one of these?” She held up her beer bottle. Henry shook his head.

 

“Nah, I’m fine.”

 

Emma walked into the house and on the way to the kitchen was met with the cacophony of chatter that comes from six different conversations going on at once. In the small dining area that opened into the backyard, Lacey French was describing life on the road to Mary Margaret.

 

“Are pool halls dangerous?” Mary Margaret asked. 

 

“Some I wouldn’t enter unless my tetanus shots were up to date.”

 

“Oh, goodness!”

 

David was trying to shoo the boys away from the food while trying to lift a sixteen pound bird from the oven. 

 

“Out! You want me to drop this?” David fussed as Belle waved the hungry boys away from the counter that held desert. 

 

“Roland, come over here and be of use.” Marian stood in one corner of the kitchen assembling a green salad. “Chop up this tomato.”

 

“Oooh! I get to use knives!” Roland exclaimed as his mother looked concerned.

 

“On second thought, open this bagged salad and pour it into this.” Marian placed a large metal serving bowl in front of her son.

 

“You’re no fun.” Roland said.

 

“I know, but at least you’ll have all your fingers.”

 

Andrew entered the kitchen, “I’ve been told to stop resting and contribute to the feast; where do you want the food set up?”

 

David removed the foil tent from the turkey; he looked frazzled. “Ask Regina, I think she’s in the family room. Or maybe the formal family room.” David wondered and wiped his face with his shirtsleeve. “I dunno where she is, just start looking.” He caught a flash of two boys trying to steal cookies from a plate. “Stay away from that food!”

 

Emma searched high and low in cabinets until she found a serving platter of appropriate size. She left the kitchen and walked through the formal dining room where she found Regina, Belle and Cora putting together a fruit salad. 

 

“Mother, you should have worn gloves for pitting cherries.” Regina fussed. “You look like you’ve torn someone’s heart out!”

 

“That’s alright my little love.” Cora wiggled her red-tipped fingers at her daughter. “I have a meeting on Friday, I hope the stain stays so I can scare the other lawyers.”

 

“On Black Friday?” Regina asked, shocked a national holiday would be interrupted for work.

 

“Speaking of shopping,” Belle paused from chopping pineapple and looked at Regina, “about those boots from the video.”

 

“Have you seen our kid?” Emma asked Regina.

 

“Try the family room.” Regina pointed to the front of the house. Emma stopped long enough to give Regina a peck on the cheek. She found Henry on the couch battling Keith in a racing video game.

 

“Hey kid, mom says to stop resting and help out.”

 

“Okay, just a minute.” Henry said and turned a sharp corner, “You’re toast, Keith.”

 

“Not likely. I’ve been driving a lot longer than you have.” 

 

“Henry…” Emma reminded the boy of her presence.

 

“Neal, take over for me.”

 

“Will do.” Neal said and took the controller from Henry. 

 

Dinner was a triumph. It was served buffet style to accommodate the crowd. In a corner of the formal living room David and Mary Margaret were describing their living arrangements to Andrew; he sat his plate down on the coffee table and drew his phone from his jacket pocket. 

 

“This property just became available.” Andrew said and showed an image to the couple; Mary Margaret almost dropped her wine glass. “Perhaps it’s what you’re looking for.” In hushed and hopeful tones David and Mary Margaret agreed to meet at Golds’ office tomorrow for a viewing and discuss terms.

 

After Henry and Roland finished their seconds and were making their way to the desert counter, Cora goaded the boys into showing off their martial arts skills. “I want to see what my grandson is learning.” They bent to her will and threw punches at one another in the backyard until the starches kicked in. 

 

Marion and Lacey discussed travelling for tournaments, comparing notes on hotel room rates and which chain had the best free breakfasts. 

 

Keith napped on the couch in the casual living room. 

 

Regina heaped leftovers onto Chinette plates and covered them with tin foil for David to drop off at the Sheriff’s station for Graham. It wasn’t long after the first couple left that the others exited as well until it was just Regina, Henry and Emma in the mansion. 

 

“What a crowd.” Regina said, pouring herself a glass of wine. “I wasn’t expecting so many.”

 

“I liked having a bunch of people around.” Emma said. “Felt like a wish come true.”

 

“What do you mean?” 

 

“A long time ago I made a wish on a birthday candle.” Emma said. 

 

“What was your wish?” Regina asked.

 

Emma hung her head, sighed and looked up at Regina. “To not be alone.” Regina gathered Emma into her embrace and rocked her love slowly. “Today I got that wish.”


End file.
